


The Fix-It Sisters

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, I'm Sorry, Reality TV, i don't understand how this hgtv au got so angsty??, i watched too much property brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7080337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contractor Emma and realtor Mary Margaret make a living helping people buy fixer-uppers and turning those houses into dream homes, all filmed for their hit reality show. Their next episode, featuring widower Killian Jones, is anything but typical.</p><p>The Property Brothers AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caroc25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caroc25/gifts).



> This is what happens when you binge-watch The Property Brothers on Netflix. I'm so goddamn sorry.
> 
> Full disclosure, for me to point to when people inevitably complain: I have no clue how Property Brothers is filmed. I made all this up. I don't really care.

Emma had already downed the last bit of her hot chocolate before Regina even stepped in the conference room, which was not a great sign. Regina was only late when there was an issue that meant the next episode was going to be a pain in the ass.

The meaning wasn’t lost on Mary Margaret either. “This had better be good,” she muttered before taking a sip of her beverage. Emma nodded in acknowledgement before the door finally opened.

“Sorry I’m late,” Regina said, hurriedly sitting down at the conference table, making a great show of elegantly brushing her hair out of her face. “It took us a while to confirm with our next guest that he’d be able to pony up the dough.”

Ah, _that_ problem. Emma met Mary Margaret’s gaze and they both rolled their eyes. Now that the show was more popular, they had tons of applicants with absurdly low budgets. And since Regina had turned her life around and gotten what she considered her “second chance,” it was like she thought she was a fairy godmother whose calling in life was giving broke-as-hell people their dream homes.

There were still strict budget requirements, of course: Mary Margaret was a damn good agent, but depending on the square footage, location, and other amenities, the “perfect house” she had to find might not exist for a given budget. They were shooting in a slightly cheaper location for this season (up in Bumfuck, Maine), but even so, there were people who just couldn’t afford to be on the show, no matter how moving their stories were, or how pressing their needs.

“So let’s have it then,” Mary Margaret said; Emma was proud of her sister for masking her irritation. “Who’s the guy?”

“Killian Jones, age thirty-two, recently lost his wife.” Regina pulled out copies of the application and pushed them forward. “We’re looking at a budget of about one-fifty.”

“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” Mary Margaret asked. “Okay … that’s not terrible for this area, I guess. What does he need?”

“Three bedrooms, one bath, two car garage. As close to the waterfront as we can get him.”

“He’s single?” Emma asked. “Who’s going to be on the show with him?” They’d tried, back in season one, to have single people on the show, and the two episodes they’d managed to produce were downright terrible. So terrible, in fact, that they’d changed the requirements halfway through the season, not even bothering to wait until they’d wrapped. They needed two people to get a good dynamic going.

And to keep the lone homeowner from getting a little too attached to the pretty, single, female general contractor.

“His brother. He’ll be flying in from London a few times to get the episodes in.”

“Will he be available enough?” Mary Margaret asked. “You remember what happened last time we had someone long distance.” They all did—they’d had to basically move that episode to the end of the season, re-dress the home for the “big reveal,” and film the design reveals last. Reality television wasn’t actually _reality,_ but Emma had standards, and having the design reveals and the home reveals be _real_ mattered a lot to her.

“I’ll take care of that,” Regina said, waving her hand like it would wave away the problem. Emma just shrugged at Mary Margaret; either Regina would make sure it worked, or they’d be adding “Both people must live locally” to the requirements next season.

“Design preferences?”

“He’s into nautical crap—he even has a boat.” Regina picked up her copy of the application to read off of it, which was a not-so-subtle hint to Emma that she should do the same instead of asking questions.

“Okay, anything else? I assume we’re going for the drinking game trifecta here: open concept, gourmet kitchen, and master retreat.” Mary Margaret snorted, and Regina even smirked, although she didn’t reply. Emma sighed and took a look at the application.

Recently widowered, consultant who worked from a home office, liked to go sailing on his yacht, big fan of the traditional and classic. That might be a little more interesting than the couples who always came in asking for the same thing: something with character _but_ also modern _but_ also timeless.

She was less pleased about another note on the application. She _hated_ that Regina had added the little checkbox: _Will you be living in the home during the renovation?_ It didn’t matter that there was a lengthy disclaimer and warning, trying to convince as many applicants as possible that it was _the worst_ idea ever to live in a reno zone and could they _please please please_ live anywhere else, even a tent in the backyard?

Mr. Killian Jones, fool that he was, had checked _Yes_.

It wasn’t just that it would be a huge pain in the ass for him, although that was definitely true. Noise from seven in the morning till late at night, dust _everywhere_ , no privacy, no space, belongings barely accessible. And that was best case scenario; if they fell behind schedule, there’d be noise all night. And if they were demolishing the bathroom, this guy would be shit out of luck, and not entirely figuratively.

But it also meant that Emma was going to have a homeowner all up in her business all the damn time. It was bad enough when she dealt with control freaks; there was that time they had a project manager on the show, and the guy was on site every damn day for five weeks, pestering her. She’d had homeowners whose interference had caused renos to last up to a week longer than planned.

Invariably, the ones who lived on-site made her life harder. This Jones guy was either going to constantly question the design plans, or he was going to demand that she complete the reno ahead of schedule, or worse, _both._ Even if he was the most charming man alive, she was going to hate him.

“His max budget isn’t going to be too unmanageable,” Mary Margaret said, dragging Emma out of her thoughts. “What’s the problem?”

Regina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, his late wife had been sick for a long time, so most of his savings went towards hospital bills. He’s spent the past year rebuilding his finances, but he doesn’t want to take on any more debt. He’s going to be making a cash offer.”

“Oh wow,” Mary Margaret said, and then the same realization hit her and Emma at the same time.

There weren’t any loans. This guy had exactly one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for this project, and not a penny more. They had the ten grand extra they had for every episode, meant to be used as contingency, but that would be it. If there was anything super wrong with the house they convinced this guy to buy, they were basically fucked.

“Well, this guy had better be handsome, charming, and entertaining,” Emma said, dramatically setting down the application. “Low budget, cash offer, international brother, and living in the reno? Least he can do is give us our highest rated episode.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Regina said, pulling a photo from her folder and sliding it over.

Emma almost bit her tongue off when she saw it. This was going to be even harder than she thought.

* * *

 

“Here we go,” Mary Margaret whispered as the cameras were getting set up.

“We’ve done this, like fifty times,” Emma reminded her.

“I know. It’s still kind of exciting.”

“Sure.”

“Are you done?” Leroy asked angrily. “I don’t got all day!”

“You _do_ , in fact, but yeah,” Mary Margaret said. “Let’s go.”

“All right, in five! Four! Three!” he began, before completing the countdown with his fingers.

“Killian’s been working day and night for the past year to rebuild his finances and to repair his broken heart,” Mary Margaret said, with the perfect balance of hope and sympathy. “He’s finally ready to move out of the tiny apartment he shared with his late wife in the city, so he can get a fresh start here on the water.”

“We’re going to help him find the perfect place to get that fresh start, but with his budget, we’ve gotta find him a fixer-upper,” Emma chimed in, trying to sound friendly and optimistic as she said her lines. “But with the Fix-It Sisters, Killian’s new place _and_ his life are going to get the refresh they need.”

“Cut!” David called. “Good, that was perfect.”

“Who _wrote_ that?” Emma asked, grimacing as though the words themselves tasted terrible.

“I did,” Mary Margaret replied. “Is there a problem?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s just a little too … ”

“It’s a little hopey-changey,” David acknowledged, “but from my vantage point, it sounds sincere. And besides, it’ll get the audience rooting for us to give his guy a great place. You have no idea how much we need to create interest.”

“True,” Emma admitted. “Another episode of ‘Diane and Stewart are ready to stop renting’ isn’t going to help our ratings.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mary Margaret said. “Now, we’ll brief this guy and his brother and meet you guys at the first house.”

“See you there,” David said with a wink.

“Oh my _god,”_ Emma said as she and Mary Margaret walked to their car. “Will you two please get it over with already?”

“Ever since your little fiasco with Neal, do you really think Regina’s going to be on board with me sleeping with our best director?”

“David is not secretly married,” Emma said defensively.

“Fair enough,” Mary Margaret replied. “I’ll think about it. I know he’s apprehensive about disrupting the balance we have.”

“You mean _you_ are,” Emma said knowingly.

“Maybe.” She sighed.

“I know David’s a good director, but he _is_ replaceable if things to go shit, okay?”

“Look, let’s not talk about this. I said I’d think about it, and you know I will. But I want to stay focused on filming today, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Within minutes, they were at their temporary office. Emma missed the days they used to shoot in their hometown, Boston, where they still had their homebase studio and Emma and Mary Margaret still had their condos. They’d shot the first season in the area, before the network decided they needed to expand and try other real estate markets. Every new place meant finding space to essentially house the show, and it also meant finding reliable trades and sourcing decent materials. Every damn time.

Emma parked the car in her dedicated spot while Mary Margaret looked around the sidewalk in front of them. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Maybe they went inside?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Sure enough, in the lobby, the found the two men sitting on the uncomfortable couch near the front desk. The first man seemed reasonably relaxed, but the second one looked like he might throw up from anxiety. Emma recognized the second as their newest guest, and so did Mary Margaret. “You must be Killian.” She stepped towards him and offered a hand.

Both men stood abruptly, and the ill-looking one shook Mary Margaret’s hand. “That I am. This is my brother, Liam.”

“Hi,” Emma said, keeping her distance in case Killian _did_ throw up.

“Usually, we’d go straight to the initial house,” Mary Margaret said, glancing towards Emma as though asking for permission. Emma nodded, and her sister continued. “But you seem kind of nervous. Why don’t we head upstairs and talk about what to expect?”

“That would be lovely,” Killian said, even though he still looked like he was going to ruin the carpeting. Not that it would matter, Emma thought with irritation, since the carpet was cheap and ugly, nothing she’d ever install herself. She sent a quick text to David, letting him know they’d be running a little late.

Mary Margaret took the lead, bringing the brothers to the well-dressed office they used for the design reveals, as opposed to one of the sterile conference rooms. “So we know that Regina already spoke with both of you about what to expect, but we’ve got a little bit of time before we have to get started. Let’s talk about the process we’re going to go through today and next week.”

“I wasn’t here for those discussions,” the brother, Liam, offered. “So it would certainly be helpful for me.”

“Oh, okay.” Mary Margaret shot Emma a look; they were _definitely_ requiring local people for all future episodes. Regina had insisted that this guy would be totally briefed beforehand, and clearly that wasn’t the case. “Well, I assume that you’ve seen the show, Killian. Liam, have you?”

“Parts of episodes, here and there. Sorry.”

“It’s nothing to worry about. The whole point of our show is that we help you purchase a sub-par property, and then we renovate it to fit your needs. The first thing we do, though, is try to get an idea of exactly what you’re looking for. That way, I know what kinds of properties to find to show you, and Emma knows what kinds of renovations would need to get done.”

“Didn’t you ask for that information in the application?” Liam asked.

“Yeah, but trust me,” Emma said, having answered this same question a million times already. “It’s one thing to say what you want, but it’s another thing to see it. This might be reality TV, but we _do_ want happy homeowners at the end of it, and to do that, we need to make sure that what you want on paper matches up to what you actually like.”

“Okay,” Liam replied, seemingly satisfied. “So today, we’re just looking at places to get an idea of what my little brother wants.”

“Younger,” Killian muttered.

“Yeah, basically,” Emma replied.

“Killian, are you all right?” Mary Margaret asked. The guy still looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him up.

“I’m fine, lass.” Lie.

“Are you sure? Do you need some water or something?”

“Thank you, but no.”

“She’s asking because you look like you don’t want to do this,” Emma interrupted. This was no time for tact. “We’re going to be driving about ten minutes to a house, where we’re going to be filming your reactions as you walk through it. We can’t do that if you look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

“Emma!” Mary Margaret hissed.

“No, come on!” she replied, a little more forcefully than she’d intended. “Every season, we have to turn down hundreds of applicants, people who are desperate to be on television and get a brand new house. If he doesn’t want to be here, he’s seriously wasting everyone’s time—ours _and_ his own. No one’s forcing him to be here.”

“That’s not strictly true,” Liam interrupted, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I may have insisted.”

“Look, I appreciate all the _concern_ , but I’m _fine,”_ Killian said angrily. “I can put on a face for the camera. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret replied, a bit subdued. “Let’s get going.”

The ten minute drive to the house was incredibly awkward, with Mary Margaret glancing in the rearview mirror almost every ten seconds to check on their guests, and with Emma trying to control her irritation. She had a reputation for being the prickly sister on the show, but viewers really didn’t know the half of it. She tried very much to control it, to present a bright, sunny, funny exterior to the cameras, but on her bad days, her attitude sometimes got the best of her.

To be fair, she didn’t usually lose her temper like she just had, but these were definitely extenuating circumstances. Sure, they’d had some really nervous and anxious guests, and there was that one woman who’d been _so_ excited at the sight of her newly renovated house that she’d vomited. And there were plenty of couples where one partner was much less eager to be on television than the other.

But Killian Jones clearly did not want to be on the show at all. And given the difficulty that he presented them with even _without_ his reluctance—his inflexible budget, his international brother—this was insult to injury. Emma could just _feel_ that this was going to be an asbestos episode, with the luck she was already having.

The camera crew was ready when they arrived. “Got lost?” Leroy asked sarcastically.

“Let’s just go,” Emma said. “No more delays.”

“All right,” David said, eager to quell the fight between star and cameraman before it could start. “Hi, there—I’m David Nolan. I’m directing this episode.”

“I thought … what’s her name? Who was the woman who worked with us in New York?” Liam asked.

“Ruby Lucas. Yeah, she directed the last episode, so she’s a little busy with editing right now. Don’t worry, though! You’re in good hands, I promise.”

Emma caught Mary Margaret breaking into a dopey smile and made a mental note to give her sister another push in the right direction when they were done filming for the afternoon.

Once everyone’s microphones were in place, and Mary Margaret and Emma had their hair and make-up touched up, David gathered them all around. The drill was the same as always, but it always made guests feel better if the Fix-It Sisters were a part of this little meeting.

“We’re going to film the four of you walking up the sidewalk from that direction,” he said as he pointed. “Mary Margaret is going to start giving you some details about the house at that point; if you need her to repeat anything, we recommend that you wait until we cut. We’ll film you walking into the house from the outside, and then we’ll have you walk in again so we can get your inside reaction.”

“That seems a little silly,” Liam interrupted. “We won’t be surprised the second time.”

“Welcome to reality television,” David said patiently, as though he hadn’t had to have this same conversation with guests dozens of times. “You’re going to have to act surprised. And we can do a few takes to try to get the best one.” He glanced at Killian, who still looked as though he wanted to run for the hills. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, mate. Let’s just get on with it.”

“All right. Let’s set up for the first shot then.”

The scene went reasonably smoothly, with Mary Margaret maintaining her chipper demeanor as she always did. Emma took up the rear and put on what she called her “listening face,” since this was the part of the show where Mary Margaret got to shine. She also paid attention to the two brothers, or, since she was behind them, their body language. Liam seemed confident, nodding as Mary Margaret spoke and looking around at the beautiful front yard and the lovely facade of the house. Killian, meanwhile, kept staring straight ahead and didn’t seem to be reacting to Mary Margaret.

Inside was a little better. Liam seemed to come around to the idea that they were going to have to _act_ surprised, and both brothers seemed genuinely interested in the details of the house. It _was_ a gorgeous home, recently built, with a kitchen that Emma would have been proud to have created herself. The master bath, she thought, was a little poorly planned out, but it was more of a personal preference she had regarding the use of space.

As they waited for the cameras to set up in the back yard for the next reaction shot, Killian approached her. “I can’t afford this place,” he said, his voice low, as though this were some big secret and not something that happened _every_ episode. “Why are you showing it to me?”

“It’s not about that,” Emma said, trying to mitigate her irritation. “What do you think of the house?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. As I said, I know I can’t afford it.”

She resisted the urge to snap at him, to point out that they’d gone _over_ this before. Instead, she pointed at the crown molding. “What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s fine. I don’t really care one way or the other.”

“I think you do,” she replied. “Keep that in mind when we’re looking at other houses.” She tugged on his arm and brought him back into the master bathroom. “Tell me what you think of this bathroom.”

“It’s a bathroom,” he said sullenly.

“Yeah, I got that.” Was he determined to be such a pain in the ass? “Tell me … what do you think of the sinks in the vanity?”

“I wouldn’t need two,” he said sadly.

“Two are good for master baths if you have the space.”

“Aye, but what good are two sinks when you’re single?”

“You planning on being single forever?” He didn’t reply, and she remembered—he was a widower. Mary Margaret was known as the tactful sister for a reason. “Well, what about the style?”

“What’s the name of this style?” he asked.

“Vessel.”

“I think it looks terrible,” he admitted. “Honestly, I do like the cabinet. I’m a big believer in a place for everything and everything in its place, and I prefer being able to stow items out of sight. But these bowls just look so …”

“Clunky?” she offered. “I’m always afraid I’m going to knock them off, like they’re freestanding bowls or something.”

“Exactly,” he said emphatically. “I’d prefer something a little more traditional.”

“What do you think of rectangular sinks? Like the one in the half-bath downstairs?”

He frowned and blushed. “I hate to admit this, but I wasn’t actually paying attention.”

That was a little irritating, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Instead, she beckoned for him to follow her back downstairs to the first bathroom. She pointed at the sink, a reasonably attractive one she recognized from IKEA. “Oh,” he said. “It’s a little modern for my tastes.”

“Good to know. This is basically what we’re looking for,” she reminded him. “I need to get a good idea of your personal taste so I can actually give you a space you’ll like. Otherwise, who knows? I might put vessel sinks into your master bathroom and ruin the whole house for you.”

He chuckled. It was the first time she’d even seen him smile besides in his photograph. “You make a fair point, lass. I’ll try to be a little more helpful from now on.”

“Good. We should probably head to the back yard now, by the way. They’re probably all set up and ready for you to have a look.”

“Very well.”

By the time they “surprised” the brothers with the price of the house (a cool two hundred grand over budget), Killian seemed a little more relaxed, and he’d been able to provide a lot more useful feedback regarding his preferences.

“So, what do you think?” Mary Margaret asked. They were filming the brothers’ “confessional” reactions outside on the sidewalk—first the, “What a perfect house! I can see myself living here!” reactions, and then the, “I can’t believe they showed me a house I can’t afford! I don’t want a fixer-upper but I guess I have no choice if I want my dream home!” ones. After that, they’d film her and Mary Margaret’s “after” reactions and head back to the office.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He loosened up a lot as the tour went on. But I think he’s going to be really apathetic about the reno, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“I think if he had his way, he wouldn’t even be moving,” Mary Margaret said. “Liam seems more excited about the process, like he’s saving his brother from something. I’m going to see if Regina will let us have a look at the footage from New York. But an apathetic homeowner—that’s a new one. Won’t that be easier?”

“It might be,” she admitted. “Not gonna have him showing up every hour, questioning my designs. I think that as long as I don’t overspend, he’s not going to care.”

“That’s good.”

But it really didn’t feel that good. It wasn’t just that she had the ability to really fuck this up, creating a house for this guy that he really didn’t like. It was the thought of showing off a gorgeous living space to this guy and having him look at it like it didn’t even matter. She was used to convincing people to care _less_ about the details of the space, not to care _more._ Or at _all._

“Yeah. Let me know if Regina gives you the footage. I’d like to have a look, too.”

“Sure thing.” And then David was calling them over, and the conversation ended.

* * *

 

The footage had been simultaneously very helpful and _awful and not helpful._

Mary Margaret’s reaction summed it up for both of them. “Well, I’m not a religious person, but I think we need to make a significant sacrifice to the editing gods.”

On the one hand, Emma got an idea of ways to tweak her current designs to better suit Killian’s needs. He liked things that were traditional but _not_ overly ornate. It was a fine line to walk between that and modern, and it would take effort to avoid creating a bland space. But it was something she was well-practiced at, given her own design preferences.

He liked personal touches and simple pieces over anything abstract; that would help the budget, since she could just pick and choose from his belongings to dress up the place. He was clearly into nautical themes, as his application had mentioned; that wasn’t just something he’d said (or his brother had said) to punch up the application. She hadn’t been sure, but now she felt confident updating some design plans to reflect that.

But on the other hand, she was more convinced than ever that no house she could design would ever be good enough for Killian Jones, because no place would ever be as good as the tiny, builder-grade New York City apartment he’d shared with the love of his life.

It was his brother who was pointing out all the flaws and singing the Fix-It Sister’s Greatest Hits: Liam complained about lack of storage and prep space in the kitchen; Liam complained about the lack of outdoor space; Liam complained about how there was nowhere for guests to crash but the couch. Killian, in the meantime, was quiet and almost defensive of the space, calling attention to the view of the city and constantly mentioning Milah, his late wife.

He hadn’t wanted to leave. He hadn’t wanted the fresh start they were giving him. Great.

It was certainly the sunk cost fallacy talking, but it really was too late to call it quits and send him back home. Will and Belle, their editors, would just have to make sure that the opening was as uplifting and hopeful as possible, instead of miserably depressing. And then it would be up to her to get him to at least _act_ interested and happy about his new home.

Three days later, though, when they met with the brothers to view some additional properties, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that Killian wasn’t that negative about the conditions of some of the homes. Liam was—she suspected his whole “parts of episodes, here and there” comment wasn’t entirely true, since he was definitely intentionally giving them a ton of material to work with regarding the flaws of all the places they were touring.

Killian still wasn’t that effusive about anything, but Emma could tell he was trying. He made a few comments here and there about use of space and structural oddities—”Why would they set up a bathroom like this?” and, “I don’t understand why this bedroom would need two doors to the same hallway.” He also made a few throwaway comments that Emma made mental note of: he didn’t like the blond hardwood in one house, and in another, he seemed quite interested in a set of built-ins around a fireplace.

That evening, she and Mary Margaret shared their observations and notes, and while her sister touched base with the realtors and listing agents regarding the house showings the following day, Emma made some adjustments to the designs of the two houses they were going to look at. She had a feeling, when she was done, that she knew which one Killian would pick.

“You all set?” Mary Margaret asked, popping her head back into the room.

“Yeah, just finished.” She gestured at the screen, which was showing the latest version of the living room in that particular house.

“Oh, that looks fantastic, Emma. I think he’s going to pick that one, honestly.”

“Me, too. I’m a little worried about the state of the house, though. Budget-wise.”

“I spoke with Killian’s realtor—she said the sellers are expecting condition of home inspection, and they might be pretty easily swayed about covering a few thousand in closing costs.”

“That’s good. We’ll have to see if we can get them to cover the whole thing though—I’ll need basically everything we can get for the reno.”

Mary Margaret frowned at that. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see. Anyway, I’m going to head home for the night—are you coming?”

“Yep.” She turned back to the computer screen. “Give me a sec and I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Sure thing.”

Before she closed the program, she took another look at the master bathroom. The layout looked pretty good, but there was something bothering her about it that she couldn’t quite figure out. She was satisfied with her decision to keep just a shower stall instead of trying to add a tub; there was a full bath on the first floor already and it would cost way too much to make space for one upstairs. The placement of the stall and toilet seemed fine, and she thought that the vanity and sink she’d picked would match Killian’s preferences.

But there was something _off_ about the use of space. It wasn’t that there was too much empty space—she wasn’t a fan of filling up bathrooms to use every nook and cranny if it wasn’t necessary. And she was glad that the layout allowed for the shower stall to be towards the window instead of the door; she was always afraid that someone would open the bathroom door too forcefully and shatter the glass when the stall was right up next to the door. So what was missing?

She’d have to figure it out later, though—the beeping of her phone indicated her sister was getting impatient; she must have been obsessing over the problem for longer than she’d thought. She quickly saved the design, shut down the computer, and headed for the door.

* * *

 

The final showings went as expected, which was a huge relief to both Fix-It Sisters. Emma was sure that there would be plenty more obstacles to handle for this episode, but at least there were no issues with the viewings.

First, they toured a single-storey foreclosure that was way under Killian’s budget, leaving Emma with about half the budget left over for renovations. It had a gorgeous waterfront view with a solid deck that she was reasonably sure wouldn’t need much work. It had two full bathrooms, a bonus, but only two bedrooms, and the kitchen was a disaster.

Killian, to her surprise, was visibly disheartened as they walked around the property. Both he and Liam were aware of the fact that this was one of the two houses that their realtor had managed to set aside, and that Emma had drawn up plans for. They were clearly expecting it to be at least comparable to the properties they’d viewed a few days ago. And, well, even Emma could admit that it wasn’t.

“This is a foreclosure,” Mary Margaret explained on camera, “so we’ll be dealing with the bank. That means we won’t really be able to negotiate the price. But for seventy-five thousand dollars, that leaves Emma plenty of room in the budget for renovations.”

“But it doesn’t even have the right number of bedrooms,” Liam protested.

“I know,” Emma said, “but I’d fix that.” She pointed to the door to the downstairs bedroom. “This bedroom is pretty huge for a spare bedroom, so I could easily split it in half. The front end could be an office for you, Killian, and the rear would make a great guest room for you, Liam, when you come visit.”

“I suppose,” Killian said. He didn’t sound convinced. “I’d like to see another place, though. I’m not feeling terribly at home here.”

The second house was a two-storey, also with a great view, but with a giant, rocky pit for a backyard, and no deck. It had the right number of bedrooms, but the entire place felt closed in and dark. “Please tell me this is less expensive than the other one,” Killian muttered.

“It’s actually more expensive,” Mary Margaret confessed. “List price on this house is one hundred thousand dollars. But unlike the other place, this one isn’t a foreclosure, so we’ll be able to negotiate the price.”

“And one easy way to make this house work for you is to knock down about half the walls downstairs,” Emma explained. “Right now, you’ve got to go through the dining room to get to the stairs, and you have to go through the kitchen to get to the downstairs bathroom. If we opened up everything down here except for the bedroom and the bathroom, it would feel like a palace.”

“The backyard is terrible, though,” Liam pointed out.

Killian nodded. “Aye. A deck would be nice at least.”

Emma nodded. “We might be able to fit one in. Everything else, I can make work on your budget. I promise.” She hated promising—either house probably going to need some serious updates to the electrical system, and she was reasonably sure there would be a five or ten grand problem hiding somewhere within the walls.

But she knew this was the right house for him; she’d be fine renovating the other one, but hopefully she and Mary Margaret could sway him.

They met with the brothers the following morning, in the same room as their first meeting. At least this time, Killian didn’t look like he was going to die or anything, although he looked more anxious than excited. That was normal, at least; they always had people on the show who were very nervous about deciding which house to make an offer on. Belle and Will wouldn’t be facing as much of a challenge with this footage as they were with the stuff filmed in New York.

Liam was good about ooh-ing and aah-ing at the designs. He seemed to be a huge fan of what they’d nicknamed the “Flimsy Foreclosure,” excitedly pointing out the gourmet kitchen and the refreshed master bathroom. Killian meanwhile, was mostly disinterested, although Mary Margaret managed to prompt him to be a little more effusive about details he liked. He pointed out the new windows in the kitchen, which would open up the house to the view even more than it already had been.

Next up was what Mary Margaret was calling the “Closed Off Cottage.” Again, Liam went through the appropriate motions, nodding in approval at the open concept design. “Now that I see what you mean, I really like it,” he explained. “It was hard to imagine before.”

Killian seemed pleased with the open concept, and unlike Liam, it didn’t bother him very much that the kitchen would remain rather small. “I rarely cook for more than just myself anyway,” he explained.

Emma hid her grin; she knew she had Killian hooked with the design. Now, there was just one more obstacle. “Let’s talk budget,” Mary Margaret said.

The foreclosure was going to cost only one hundred and thirty thousand dollars, well under the maximum budget, and she could do it in four weeks. The “Closed Off Cottage?”

“They’re listed above market value,” Mary Margaret explained. “I’d say this property should be listed at ninety-thousand, and I’d suggest making an offer of eighty-five thousand.” It was a number she and Mary Margaret had gone over multiple times with the listing agent and Killian’s realtor, and it was crucial that they get that price. Because …

“The renovations are going to be more extensive than the other house, especially if we’re going to add a deck. I’ll need sixty-five thousand dollars, which puts us at our maximum budget.” Killian flinched. “I’ll also need six weeks instead of four. But you _will_ have that house by the end of it.” She stared at him, hoping he would realize she was serious. Hell, she would get as creative as she had to with the budget if he would just _take_ the house. Even if it meant pulling an all-nighter or two.

She was uncharacteristically nervous as she and Mary Margaret grabbed coffee in the lounge while Killian came to his decision. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just going to be really frustrated if I have to deal with that foreclosure.”

Mary Margaret nodded in understanding. “Me, too. Not that I love arguing down homeowners, but the setup of the other one is just _perfect._ That master bedroom and office upstairs?”

“I hope that clinches it for him.” The other house would only have views of the harbor from the spare room (or what would be the spare room when she was finished with it), the kitchen, and the deck. In fact, the only significant advantage of the foreclosure was the price. It would be a nice house when it was done, but it would always be the safe choice, not the _right_ choice.

But this other place? Killian was going to get gorgeous views from almost every room in the house. She could just imagine him, sitting at a desk in front of a massive window, looking over the water, as he worked from home. She could see him cooking dinner and being able to watch the sunset, since there would be no walls between the kitchen and living room. And she could imagine him waking up as the sun rose, gently lighting up the relaxing and serene bedroom.

If he couldn’t imagine that, then he deserved what he’d get: a reasonable house that would work just fine for a few years before he moved on.

A text from Regina alerted them to the fact that Killian had made his decision; chugging the rest of their coffee (Emma being extra careful not to spill—she still hadn’t lived down the one time she had to change her shirt and they’d had to refilm), they headed back inside.

“So, do we have a decision?” Mary Margaret asked, flashing an encouraging smile at the brothers that would get picked up by the cameras.

“Aye, that we do,” Liam said with a wink. Emma’s heart sank a bit; he’d been much more excited about the foreclosure.

“And?”

Killian was actually smiling. “I think I’m going with the ‘Closed Off Cottage.’”

She thought she’d heard wrong at first. Mercifully, Mary Margaret took over. “That’s fantastic, congratulations! What made your decision for you?”

“I know it’ll be more expensive, and it’ll take longer,” he acknowledged. “But if I’m to get a fresh start, this seems like the right house for it.”

“Awesome!” Emma didn’t even need to feign her enthusiasm.

“I need to get started on the paperwork, since we’re going to have to argue the price down a bit. In the meantime, Emma will stick around and go over the design.”

And with that, the cameras were off. “All right, I’ll call your realtor,” Mary Margaret told Killian. “How low are you comfortable going?”

“Are you sure eighty-five is really reasonable?” Liam asked. “Even without the walls, that place needs a lot of work. The wallpaper in the spare room was just horrible.”

“Wallpaper isn’t that hard to take care of,” Emma pointed out. “It’s entirely superficial. The bones of the house seem pretty solid from what I’ve seen. And we’ll be making the offer contingent on inspection, so if the inspection turns up something really awful, we can rescind our offer entirely, or make a lower one.”

“And keep in mind that you are paying for a great location with an incredible view,” Mary Margaret reminded them. “If you go much lower than eighty thousand, you might offend the sellers.”

“Could we perhaps try eighty?” Killian asked. “Would it help if I wrote a letter explaining my situation? And having a cash offer—surely that will help make my case?”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Sure. Do you want to write the letter now?” She pulled a legal pad and pen from her briefcase.

The three of them sat awkwardly and silently as Killian wrote. Mary Margaret kept checking her text messages, Liam looked over the designs again, and Emma stared at Killian. What might he be writing that would sway the sellers? She wasn’t feeling judgmental; this tactic was unusual, but it had worked in the past. She was just … curious. Mary Margaret and Killian’s realtor were already going to inform the sellers of Killian’s backstory; what more could he be adding?

Finally, he was done; he pushed the pad and pen back to Mary Margaret. “So, we’ll try eighty?” she asked; he nodded. “All right then. Emma, call me when you’re done?”

“Sure thing.” As Mary Margaret left, she turned back to the brothers and pulled over print-outs of the designs. “All right, so first of all, although we’re going to focus on a few spaces for the episode, we will be finishing the whole house. You know, refinishing floors, redoing paint and trim, the works. But the open concept living space and the two upstairs rooms are going to be that main focus of the episode.”

“But you _are_ adding the deck,” Liam said forcefully.

It took a significant amount of willpower to avoid rolling her eyes; it was in the plans, wasn’t it? “Yes, we are.” Mary Margaret and Regina would have been so proud of how calm and measured her voice was. “And we’ll be refreshing and refinishing the downstairs bathroom and spare room. That wallpaper was terrifying.” That earned a chuckle from Liam.

“So what do you need from me?” Killian asked. Back to business; the excitement she’d seen in his eyes when he’d made the decision had disappeared.

“Right now, we need to make a few design decisions, and I’ll need you to sign off on a few things. For example, the original hardwood in most of the rooms looks pretty good, but I don’t know what’s under the tile in the kitchen. If there’s more original hardwood, that’s great, but if not, or if it’s not salvageable, we’ll have to buy flooring, which will cost more.”

Then she pointed to the living area. “Another thing we need to consider is furniture. I can easily source some great, affordable furnishings, but is there anything of yours you’d like to see in this space? And if not, what do you think of the furnishings I’ve selected?”

“I really like the built-ins around the television,” Liam said.

“Aye. I’ve a nice television already. Forty inches,” he said, “if you need that for your plans.”

“I do, thanks.” She scribbled it down on the diagram.

“I do like that style couch,” he added. “All I’ve got is an IKEA one I’m dying to rid myself of. Honestly, that’s probably the case for the majority of my furniture.”

“How about the cabinets and counters? We can try to reuse some of the existing cabinets, since we’re keeping this wall of the kitchen, but like I said, I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I’d prefer that it not feel like a beach home, if that makes any sense,” Killian said. “I’m not sure if I can explain it, but the color and style of the cabinets and counters …”

She looked at the pale beech shaker cabinets in the design. “Well, how about this same style, but in white? Brushed silver pulls and gray quartz countertops, and you’ll get a traditional feel without it looking like Grandma and Grandpa’s vacation cottage.” Liam chuckled.

More and more design decisions flew by, and Emma was nearly through with her checklist. Until Liam had a comment. “The master bath seems a little … off.”

“How so?” She wasn’t about to let on that she had the same feeling, especially if Killian didn’t seem to care. But Liam couldn’t elaborate, and so the problem would just have to remain.

“All right, so we’re basically with the design decisions. One last thing we need to talk about is living arrangements.” She hated this part so damn much.

“My lease in New York is about to end,” Killian explained sourly, and Liam looked down at the table. “Even with the best possible timing, I’ll likely only have a day or two of overlap between my lease and gaining possession of the house.”

“And extending your lease for a couple months isn’t an option?” she asked. “Most landlords are usually okay about this sort of thing.”

He glared at her, and Liam took over. “Your producer said it was perfectly fine for him to live there during the renovation. You’re not implying she lied, are you?”

“No, of course not!” She shook her head; clearly this was a sore subject. “I just wanted to be sure. In that case, I need to go over some information for you, and you’ll need to sign some paperwork indicating that you understand what the process will entail.”

“Very well,” Killian replied stiffly.

“In order to get a renovation done in such a short time period, we’re basically going to be starting at seven every morning and working until quite late, sometimes as late as nine or ten, depending on the nature of the work.” Jackhammering obviously would violate local noise ordinances if they were doing it towards midnight, but still like painting wouldn’t.

She continued. “There’s going to be dust everywhere, especially since we’re knocking down walls; even with the measures we’ll take to prevent dust from getting into other areas of the house, it _will_ happen. You also will not have any access to a kitchen, and since we’re refreshing the downstairs bathroom _and_ remodeling the upstairs bathroom, there are going to be times when you won’t have bathroom access either.”

Liam looked nervous, but Killian continued to glare at her as she continued. “Depending on what we find in the walls, you also might be out of electricity, maybe for a day but sometimes for longer. And you _will_ eventually need to find somewhere else to stay during the final week of renovations; we’re going to have to finish up whichever room you’re living in.”

“I understand all that,” Killian said. “What do I need to sign?”

She pulled the paperwork from a drawer off to the side and slid it across along with a pen. “I recommend that you stay in the spare bedroom and use the downstairs bathroom until we remodel it. We can also move the old fridge into the garage, so at least you can keep using that.”

“Can he live in the garage?” Liam asked.

She shook her head. “We’re going to be storing all sorts of stuff in there—anything shipped will have to sit somewhere till we need it, and while you do have basement storage, it’s much harder to lug stuff in and out of there. And we’ll be storing machinery and equipment in there, too, which we’ll be using regularly.”

“I see.”

“When you pack up your stuff, you should make sure you label everything really well, and indicate which stuff is off-limits to us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re going to be buying some new furniture and decor for you, but we like to personalize the place and really make it yours. Like, dishes in the cabinets, photos on the walls, and so on.”

“You’re not—you’re not going to _unpack_ for me, are you?”

“Of course not.” She tried not to sound disgusted, but she couldn’t help it. Walsh had intentionally ignored the rules and she’d ended up opening boxes of his pornography. “No clothes or toiletries. I’m not interested in going through your underwear.” Killian raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. Instead, he just glanced over the paperwork, likely checking to make sure there wasn’t anything hidden in there that she hadn’t mentioned, and then signed it.

“Awesome.” She looked around for her briefcase before remembering she hadn’t brought it. She’d have to drop by Regina’s office on her way out. “All right, that’s it for now. We’ll be in touch when there’s news of a reply from the sellers.”

On her way to Regina’s office, she bumped into the producer herself. “Oh, hey, I have paperwork for you.”

“Oh?”

“Killian Jones, we just wrapped up the design stuff and he signed all the shit about living in the reno.”

“Excellent. I’m on my way to a meeting, but you can just give it to Sidney.”

“Great, thanks.”

“How did it go?”

Emma shrugged. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Come on, Regina, what do you want me to say? You know how I feel about people living in the reno zone.”

“Fair enough. He seems like a nice fellow, though. It probably won’t be as bad as you’re imagining.”

Emma scoffed a bit as her producer just smiled and walked away. She just _knew_ that Killian Jones living in the reno zone was going to be an issue.


	2. Part II

When Emma got home that afternoon, Mary Margaret was still out, likely meeting face to face with Killian’s realtor and the agent for the sellers. She flopped down on the couch and tried to distract herself. She _always_ got antsy right after the major design meeting, There was just so much to _do_ now; she had to hire trades and get her tools and equipment ready to go. She wouldn’t start purchasing anything until the demolition was under way, since there was nothing worse than ordering materials and furniture and then discovering an issue that required downsizing the budget. But she could start finalizing the _plans_ , in terms of those purchases.

She wouldn’t, though. Not until they closed on the house. Until then, she’d just have to obsess over the upcoming process. At least with a cash offer, this would go quickly. They’d negotiate with the sellers, close on the house, and then there would be a couple weeks for her to get everything ready to go.

She needed Mary Margaret to come home and save her from herself, though; she found herself returning to the design plans, _just_ to be sure.

She was so wrapped up in figuring out the problem with the master bathroom, wasting hours on Pinterest, on Apartment Therapy, on her own designs for other homes, that she didn’t notice how late it was when Mary Margaret finally got home. “Oh, no!” she cried as soon as she stepped in and saw Emma. “You know you’re not supposed to do that!”

“I can’t help it!” Emma replied, before cradling her head in her hands. “I can’t figure out this problem, and it’s killing me!”

“We still have time to figure it out. Can I see?”

“Yeah, here, look.” She scooted over so her sister could sit next to her, and she pointed to the bathroom designs. “Okay, here’s the footprint in the floorplan. And here are the renderings from a few different angles.”

“Okay.” Mary Margaret furrowed her brows as she looked over the designs. “Hm. That’s weird.”

“Yeah?”

“The footprint looks fine. Like, this looks like your condo’s bathroom back in Boston.”

How had she not noticed that? But Mary Margaret was right. The only major difference in the layout was that Emma’s bathroom had a full tub, not just a shower stall. “But my bathroom looks fine.”

“It does,” Mary Margaret replied thoughtfully. “Yeah, it does.” She grabbed at the print-outs of the renderings. “How does your bathroom look fine, but this one looks off? Is it the software?”

“I don’t think so. The software is actually pretty accurate. If it feels off in the rendering, it’ll feel off for real.”

“Sorry.” Mary Margaret sighed and dropped the papers back on the coffee table. “I wish I could tell what the problem was. Now I can see why you’ve been poring over this for so long.”

“Yeah.” Wait, what time was it? “Oh my god, where the hell were you? You were meeting with those realtors hours ago!”

Mary Margaret turned scarlet. “Don’t you want to know how it went?”

“No. Well, _yes_ , but I want to know why you’re home so late first.”

“Pick one.”

“What?”

“I’ll either tell you about the meeting, or I’ll tell you why I’m home late.” She raised an eyebrow as Emma considered her decision. “I read Killian’s letter, too, by the way.”

Emma groaned. “Okay, _fine,_ tell me about the meeting.”

“The house is his, eighty grand.”

“What? You’re telling me that we low-balled them for twenty grand below asking, and they took it _without_ a counter offer?”

“You don’t believe that I’m _that_ good at my job?” A skeptical glare from Emma answered that question. “All right, so first off, they knew they were above market value, so it wasn’t hard to bargain them down to ninety anyway. When we explained the situation—that it was a cash offer—it was easy to get them down to eighty-five. But Killian’s letter _really_ sealed it. Like, I didn’t even have to argue with them.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re an older couple, just looking to move to a place that’s closer to their kids and only one storey. They’ve paid enough of their mortgage over the years that they’re not losing anything even with eighty grand.”

“But the letter—it had that much of an effect?”

Mary Margaret nodded solemnly. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Better than you can.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was the _one_ time, Emma! I didn’t even know it was a secret!”

“All right, well, what is it?”

Mary Margaret grinned sheepishly before pulling a sheet of paper out of her briefcase. “I photocopied it.”

“What? Why?”

“You need to read this, Emma. It’s heart-breaking.”

She reached for it—after all, this had been the bargaining chip that had convinced her to pick “meeting details” over “why the fuck were you so late getting home?” But then she stopped.

“I don’t want to read it.”

“Emma, you really should.”

“No, I shouldn’t. Come on, throw that out.”

“He must have expected us to read it,” her sister pointed out. “I _had_ to. Professionally. You know that.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you should have photocopied it.” She snatched the page out of her sister’s grip and stalked off to the shredder in their shared office. She resisted the urge to even glance at it as she did so; the looping, surprisingly beautiful handwriting was tempting to look at, so she kept herself from comprehending the words.

“I could just tell you what it says.”

“Stop. I don’t want to know. All I care about is that the house is his for eighty grand, leaving me seventy for renovations.”

“Closer to sixty-five. They wouldn’t budge on closing costs.”

“Killian might counter offer.”

“He might, but I’m going to try to convince him not to. The design plans were made with a sixty-five grand budget in mind anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

“We’ll meet with him tomorrow to finish up the deal and to film. Do you want to come?”

Emma stared at the plans still on the coffee table. “Nah. It’s all you, babe.”

She had a bathroom to figure out anyway.

* * *

 

Emma hated demo day.

For one thing, there was the excruciatingly early start after a very late night. In order to make sure they were all set for demolition first thing in the morning, she and her crew had to spend hours leading up to it getting everything ready. Safety equipment, sledge hammers, dumpsters, permits, wheelbarrows … everything had to be ready to go.

And since they were getting started as early as they could, given the local noise ordinances, it meant arriving even earlier to set up for filming. And because this was television, and she had girl bits, it also meant spending time in hair and make-up beforehand. It was stupid, she thought, since she was just going to ruin it anyway during the demolition, and audiences would be more focused on watching the walls get destroyed.

But half the appeal of the show, she knew, was that she and Mary Margaret were gorgeous. Which meant she had to look gorgeous while destroying the interior of a house.

Thank god for her venti latte with an extra shot.

“All right,” she said to Killian and Liam, before the cameras began filming. “The three of us are going to be doing as much demolition as we can today. Whatever we don’t get done, the trades will finish for us. But the more we do, the more money we’ll save, so if you find yourself flagging, keep that in mind.”

“Are we going to be doing this the _entire_ day?” Liam asked skeptically.

“Yep. We’ll break for lunch at one, and we’ll stop at six. If you find yourself flagging, it’s okay to take a break; we’ve got craft services set up outside with Gatorade and snacks and stuff.”

“I’m going to be sore tomorrow,” he grumbled.

Killian chuckled. “Quite your whining, old man. Shall we begin?”

She handed them safety glasses and masks. “Yep! Let’s get started.”

The kitchen cabinets, which, unfortunately, were falling apart, were the first to go. As much as Emma was entirely capable of demolishing an entire house on her own, given the opportunity, she was very happy to have two six foot fall men helping her. She and Killian dragged the old appliances out while Liam pulled down the upper cabinets with unrestrained glee. It wasn’t a large kitchen, but even so, Emma was impressed with how quickly they pulled it apart.

She should have known that would be where the good news would end.

First, she found a problem with the plumbing; not only was there mold in one of the walls they _hadn’t_ planned on demolishing, but the piping was also rusting to the point of nearly degrading.

Next, as they pulled up the tiles, she found that there _was_ no original hardwood in the kitchen; just tile over cheap, uneven subflooring.

Then, as they opened up the walls between the kitchen and dining room, they discovered everything was shiplap. Now, they couldn’t simply kick in the drywall; they had to pry away the boards, which slowed them down significantly.

Both brothers were working tirelessly, at least, although Emma could tell that the setbacks were getting to Killian. She couldn’t really blame him; even the most patient and understanding of homeowners usually started losing their shit at this point. But the rage and frustration were clearly simmering, and she could tell Liam saw it, too; he kept glancing towards Killian anxiously, cracking jokes to lighten the mood, and commenting on the positive aspects of the process.

And then they found an asbestos-wrapped pipe in the wall between the kitchen and living room.

Once the cameras were off, shortly before six, Killian stormed into the spare room, his tiny new home for the next six weeks, and slammed the door.

“This is really unacceptable,” Liam said bitterly. “That’s the entire contingency budget, all in one day.”

“This happens.”

“It wouldn’t have happened with the other house.”

“We have no way of knowing that.” She also knew that the foreclosure probably had just as many issues, but it was irrelevant. When homeowners got upset, they got upset.

“You shouldn’t have pressured him into purchasing this place.”

“Excuse me, but we _didn’t_ pressure him.”

“Please.” Liam rolled his eyes. “I could see your faces while we were looking at the designs. You _wanted_ him to pick this place. If it was obvious to me, it was obvious to him, too.”

“This is what it’s like at the beginning. I _know_ you know this.”

“I’ve only seen an episode here and there—”

“No.” It was time to let loose. The cameras were off, and besides, her off-screen personality wasn’t exactly a secret to the crew. “You’ve been giving us flawless material for the show since day one. That only happens when someone has binge-watched HGTV for hours at a time. I _know_ you know this show well, Mr. Jones. Do _not_ lie to me.”

To his credit, he didn’t. His jaw clenched angrily, and she knew he was trying very hard not to shout at her.

“I get it. Your brother bought the house I designed. The house that doesn’t exist yet. I have to _make_ it.” She set her chin and stared up at him, hoping that he would feel a little intimidated. It was hard to do, though, with him a good half foot taller than she was. “This is my job, Liam. I know what I’m doing.”

For a second, she thought he was going to shout at her again. He looked like he really _wanted_ to, that was for sure. But instead, he just shook his head and stalked off.

Even though demo was finished for the day, there was still a lot of work to be done—there was shiplap everywhere, and plenty of dust and debris. The shiplap was in great shape, which was a positive thing (she’d tried to make that clear to the brothers, but they seemed more focused on the negative aspects of the news), so she made sure to stack as much of the intact wood as possible in the back of the garage.

She was working on vacuuming up as much of the dust as possible when Killian finally emerged from the spare room.

She thought he was just going to head to the bathroom and then isolate himself again, so she nearly dropped the vacuum in shock when he tapped her on the shoulder. “Ah, sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m just trying to get as much of the dust as possible. Even if you weren’t living here during the reno, it’s never good to let this build up.”

“I understand. I just …” He scratched his ear nervously. “I want to apologize for my rudeness. And Liam’s. He’s just trying to protect me.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving her hand. “You think I haven’t dealt with this kind of thing before?”

“Angry homeowners, or going through the contingency budget in a single day?”

She laughed. “Both, although admittedly, the former happens more often.”

“So I’m not the first?”

“Nope. It’s not that common, honestly, but it happens sometimes. That’s why the budget’s there, though.”

He nodded. “So there’s hope?”

She smiled as reassuringly as she could. “Killian, renovating a house is beyond stressful. It’s going to feel like everything is going to pieces and that it’s not possible to turn it around. Hell, it’s going to feel like that for a _while._ You’ve seen the show, right?”

“I have.”

“The most common comments we get from homeowners towards the end of the renovation is how they thought we’d be farther along than we are. Because honestly, up until the final week, this place is going to look like crap.”

“Truly?”

“Well, I mean …” She sighed. “Not to _me._ It’s gorgeous to me, putting up new walls, leveling floors, installing brand new plumbing or electric. I mean, okay, come here.”

She led him over to the wall in the kitchen that had to be unexpectedly torn down. “Look at this plumbing. It’s a shoddy job, and because it’s shoddy, it leaked everywhere. So now it looks terrible _and_ it’s created a whole new problem we shouldn’t have had to deal with.

“Sure, we could have left the wall and repainted it and made it look pretty, but _I_ would know that the bones of the house were rotting away with mold, that your water was leaking everywhere. I’d look at that wall and think it was terrible.

“In the next five weeks, we’re going to gut all this plumbing and replace it with stuff that’s actually up to code, stuff that’ll last you decade after decade. We’re going to get rid of all the mold and the damage. We’re going to rebuild this wall and set up the cabinets.

“And you’re going to look at it and wonder why it looks so unfinished. But it’ll look _amazing_ to me. Everything else? Cabinet fronts and pulls, sink and countertops, appliances, backsplash—that’ll take a few days to install, tops. And it’s all dressing.”

“Quite passionate, Swan.”

“Ugh, sorry, I tend to get carried away.”

“It’s all right. I understand what you mean. This won’t be a good home unless it’s solid from the ground up, through and through, and that’ll be the majority of the work.”

“Exactly.” She grinned at him. “I promise, this’ll all be okay. You don’t want mold and asbestos and groddy tile. It’s worth the ten grand to fix all that.”

“I’m sorry Liam was rude to you.”

“Like I said, I’ve had worse.”

“He’s … well …”

“Yeah?”

He sighed. “To be honest, we both really did feel as though you wanted me to buy this house. I wish I could explain why. I can understand if it was unintentional on your part, but … I must know …”

She sighed. “Mary Margaret and I have our own preferences, that’s true. We try to be good about hiding those preferences. I’m sorry if you felt pressured, although I’m not sorry you picked this house. It’s just …”

“It’s the right house,” he said, nodding. “I wanted this one anyway.”

“Good.” As she grinned at him, her phone rang. “Oh _shit.”_

“Hey, where the hell are you?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I’ve been cleaning up at the house and I lost track of time. I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay! I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t died or anything. I ordered pizza—there’s plenty left over for you.”

“Great. I have maybe twenty minutes of vacuuming left, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“See you soon!”

“Yep!” She hung up and turned to Killian. “Sorry, I was supposed to be home a while ago. Like I said, I’ll be done vacuuming soon so you can sleep.”

“It’s nothing, love. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“You bet.”

* * *

 

A week into the renovation, and things were moving along.

The asbestos removal was cheaper than expected, since the material was confined to a couple of pipes in a single wall. That helped offset the cost of the plumbing, which was going to be more expensive than they’d previously thought, information which Killian took in stride.

Now that the professionals were handling demolition, the process went by very, very quickly. The entire space brightened up, even with the tarps and plywood at the back of the house; they had to knock out almost the entire wall, both upstairs and downstairs, for new windows and a glass door to the soon-to-be deck.

… Which might be a problem. A week and a half into the reno, Emma requested a day of filming to share the news.

She’d shared it beforehand, but thankfully both brothers were upset enough at the news that they weren’t really acting much when she repeated it on camera. “So, I’ve got some bad news. The city inspector came out to take a look at the backyard to clear us to build the deck, and he doesn’t think it’s going to work.”

“You’re joking,” Killian said flatly.

“Nope. The terrain is so rocky, he’s not convinced that we’re going to be able to support it properly.”

“But … there has to be something we can do.”

“I mean, we’re going to try,” she said. “I just got the news last night, so now what we’re going to do is figure out what _could_ support it, how much it’ll change the design, and how much it’ll cost.”

“Haven’t we already ordered the door?”

“We have. It won’t go to waste, though.” She pulled out her iPad and showed them the alternative plan. “I can build this small balcony and have it be supported by the rest of the house. It won’t be as expansive as we’d planned, but it’ll cost a lot less and you’ll still have that outdoor space.”

“May I?” She handed the iPad to Killian, and Liam peered over his shoulder. “I … suppose it would be better than nothing. But it’s not what I wanted.”

“I know,” she said, trying to make it as clear as possible that she understood, that she _wanted_ that deck just as badly as he did. This house _needed_ that deck. “I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

A week later, and the news wasn’t great. The money necessary to fully and safely support the deck would require some serious budgetary cutbacks. While she was happy to get creative, her trades found a significant problem with the electrical wiring as they worked on the office upstairs. Any money she could scrounge up in savings had to go to fixing that issue.

She broached the subject with Killian privately. He sighed heavily at the news. “Where can we even cut back, though?”

“Well, okay, hold on.” She grabbed her iPad and brought up the rendering of the living area. “So this isn’t just like … a couch from the Sims or something.” He chuckled weakly. “This is an actual couch that I picked out for the space. It costs three thousand dollars.”

“Bloody hell, are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a _nice_ couch, Killian.”

“Aye, but that’s quite a lot of money.”

“It is, and that’s my point. We can cut the couch budget by a grand and I can shop for something similar at a lower price.”

“I see. Is there any other furniture like that?”

Together, they went through the renderings. Unfortunately (for the budget), he loved the bedroom set, and she hadn’t been able to find anything remotely similar for a lower price. The furniture for the office was also already well priced and functional. “What about the dining set?”

He appraised the image. “I’d be satisfied with it, but I could live with something else.”

“Okay. So I guess that’s … let’s say fifteen hundred dollars I can save and put towards electrical. That should take care of the problem.”

“So we’re still about that much short for the deck?” he asked sadly.

“Sorry, yeah, we are.”

He shrugged. “The balcony will be enough, I suppose. It’s more than I had in New York.” His voice was wistful.

“I’ll keep trying,” she promised. “I don’t like going back on promises. It makes me look bad.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation with this house. Do you have any other bad news?”

“Eh, I mean, you’re not going to have electricity for a few days starting Tuesday. You might want to rent a generator for the fridge in the garage, unless you can get through your perishables by then.”

“Wait, what? A few days?”

“Yeah, well, the problem isn’t isolated to one room. We have to rewire the office and both bedrooms.” He swore. “What?”

“Swan, I work from home. I can’t go a few days without the internet.”

“Go to the library.”

“I can’t make phone calls to clients in a library. Or a coffee shop,” he said, cutting off her next suggestion. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t afford to skip work.”

“Killian, I’m sorry, but this is why you were warned. You had to sign a waiver—this was _in_ the document you signed.”

“I know, but I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem.” He rubbed his hand over his face and looked up at the ceiling in frustration. “Bloody hell, this renovation might just actually kill me.”

“I’m … I’m really sorry, okay? But there’s nothing I can do.”

“So you’ve said.” He sighed. “All right, well, thanks for the news. I’ve got to check in with my clients, I suppose, and let them know I might be inaccessible for a few days. Later, Swan.” And with that, he went back into his room and shut the door. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

That evening, she looked through the contracts—both the one Killian signed with the show, and the one she signed with the network. When Mary Margaret, who was home suspiciously late, asked what she was doing, she lied and said she was still figuring out the master bathroom problem.

(She still hadn’t figured out the problem, but dealing with the reno and starting up plans for the next episode had gotten in the way.)

The next morning, as soon as she’d confirmed everything was moving along—there were no new problems, and existing problems were being addressed—she knocked on Killian’s bedroom door. His expression was stormy when he opened it. “Good morning, Swan. What’s the latest bad news?”

“Can we talk?” she asked. She glanced around at the trades; she didn’t want them gossiping, either about a conversation they’d overheard, or about Emma going into Killian’s bedroom with him and shutting the door. “Maybe outside?”

“Of course,” he replied with a questioning look, and he followed her out to the sidewalk, away from potential eavesdroppers.

“You cannot tell _anyone_ what I’m about to tell you,” she said firmly and quietly. “Even if you say no, or it doesn’t work out, no one can know that I even made this offer.”

At first, he seemed a little worried—did he think she was propositioning him or something? But then he narrowed his eyes a bit and grinned slightly. “I take it we’re about to do something that isn’t quite by the book?”

“I’ve read over our contracts, like, three times. There are all sorts of rules about fraternization and shit like that. But there’s nothing that says you can’t go into my apartment. Especially if I’m not there to, you know, fraternize with you.”

“Wha—why would you invite me to your apartment?”

“We have internet. And it’s quiet. You can get your work done.”

“But won’t you … be home? Surely Mary Margaret will be.”

She shook her head. “We’re both out pretty much the whole day. Especially this week—we’re working on figuring out the next episode, so we’re basically out the whole day, every day.”

“And this isn’t against the rules?”

“Not explicitly. But, you know, spirit of the law and all that.”

“Right.”

“So … are you in?”

He grinned, and her stomach did a flip. “Aye. How shall we do this?”

She smiled back tentatively. “Just be ready to work from elsewhere when I show up in the tomorrow.”

The following morning, bright and early, she had him tail her all the way to Augusta; Liam met them there in his rental car. They spent a couple of hours in some of the high end furniture shops, mostly searching for a less expensive couch, but also some other fixtures and decor. She was really excited to find that every piece she _really_ liked, that would be perfect for the house, Killian had already put on his wishlist. He had an _actual_ wishlist, too—he carried around a little notebook and had been writing down item numbers. It was … kind of cute, honestly.

Figuring out a couch proved to be a much more difficult task than she’d planned for. Knowing the budgetary constraints, she tried hard to keep the brothers focused on the couches in their price range. Liam, however, kept finding sofas that were hundreds, if not thousands of dollars over budget.

“No, look, this one is perfect,” he said, flopping on a gorgeous suede piece. “It looks superb, and it’s extremely comfortable.”

“And it’s a grand above my maximum, brother,” Killian replied patiently. “I do like it, though.”

Emma chuckled. “This is the one I’d originally picked out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s the one in the designs.”

“So, lass, you’re saying I have excellent taste,” Liam said proudly.

“Well, turn that taste towards some less expensive couches, please.”

They finally settled on a fabric couch of a similar style and color. To Emma’s delight, it was on sale, and since Killian’s taste wasn’t as expensive as she’d budgeted for, there was suddenly an extra thousand dollars she had to work with.

After placing the sizeable order with the manager, the three parted ways. Or, more specifically, Liam went back to wherever he was staying (she kept forgetting to ask), and Killian followed her as she drove to her own apartment.

It was a little weird, leading him inside. It had been years since she’d brought a guy back to her place—not that she was inviting a guy back like _that._ It wasn’t like that at all! Ugh, why had she even gone there mentally?

Either way, it was weird. Homeowners didn’t usually get to see her own personal space, and she liked it that way.

“This place is incredible,” he said softly as he followed her inside. “Did you renovate it?”

“A little,” she admitted. “Home is Boston, so my condo there is pretty much designed exactly how I want it. Most of this is just decor and stuff, and some light facelifts. Like the cabinets, for example—I replaced the fronts and the pulls.”

“Aye, it looks fantastic.” He frowned. “Aren’t those the same cabinets we’re putting in my place?”

“What? No.” She would have noticed that.

“They are!” he exclaimed.

“No, I … shit.” They were. White shaker cabinets with brushed silver pulls. “Well, originally, I picked out a light wood for yours, not white. You picked white.”

“Fair point, but even so.”

Yeah, even so, it was _weird._ “Anyway, okay, you can sit and work here.” She gestured for him to sit at the dining table near the kitchen. “Here’s how this is gonna work. You have to be out of here by six, so …” She checked her watch. “You’ve got six hours. Do not _touch_ anything—Mary Margaret _will_ notice.”

“What if I have to relieve myself?” But he was smiling.

She rolled her eyes. “Aim carefully, flush with the lid down, and wipe your hands on the bath towel on the back of the door. The hand towels are for guests and Mary Margaret will be suspicious if they’re even a tiny bit damp.”

“Such an observant sister.”

“Yep. Huge pain in the ass. When you leave, the door will automatically lock behind you, so make _sure_ you don’t leave anything behind.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Swan. I appreciate it immensely. You really have no idea.”

“Well, hopefully the electrical will be fixed quickly, so this can be a one-time thing.”

“Aye, agreed. I don’t particular enjoy imposing on you. Especially when you’re right—I read and signed all those forms.”

“Yeah, but … it’s fine. Really. I’ve gotta go, though. I have to check on the progress at the house—remember, you need to be out _by_ six. Not leave _at_ six. Be _gone_ by six.”

“I will be prompt, you’ve nothing to fear.”

She spent the entire rest of the day on edge, convinced that _something_ was going to go wrong. But nothing did. Construction was going smoothly at Killian’s house, the next homeowners they were lining up had a much higher (and more flexible) budget, and when she got home at six-thirty, about fifteen minutes before Mary Margaret showed up, there was no sign that Killian had _ever_ been in the house. Thank god.

The next day was a little trickier. Emma didn’t want to leave a paper trail, real or electronic. She felt a little sneaky and guilty as she slipped him the spare key as she shook his hand good morning. He winked at her (none too subtly—she rolled her eyes) and made a slightly overly loud comment about trying to get work done at the library.

Around three-thirty in the afternoon, as Emma was finishing up with a delivery of tile for the bathrooms and the kitchen backsplash, Mary Margaret called.

“Hey, I’m gonna be out tonight.”

“Really? Doing what?”

“Oh, Ruby’s back in town tonight, and she wanted to get dinner.”

“Where are you guys meeting up?” It had been a while since Emma had gone out. “Maybe I’ll join you.”

“Um, you might not want to,” Mary Margaret replied, a little hesitantly. “We’re meeting up in Augusta.”

“Ah, yeah, never mind then,” Emma said, chuckling. No way was she driving all the way out to Augusta for dinner, especially when she couldn’t up and leave early from the site. “I take it you’re leaving soon?”

“Yep. I just have to stop by the apartment and change.”

Shit. “Uh, why?”

“What do you mean, why? I’m wearing my ugly flats and my _Portal_ sweatshirt.”

“It’s not like Ruby’s going to care.”

Her sister made a little whining noise. “Yeah, but I’d feel so much prettier!”

“I’m sure you look fine!”

“I’m almost at the house anyway.”

No no no no! “Oh? Where are you?”

“Like, twenty minutes away—actually, really close to Killian’s house.”

Perfect! “Why don’t you just stop by here? You know I always carry an extra pair of shoes and a change of clothes in my car.” One of the perks of being a contractor was never knowing whether or not you were going to ruin your clothing; backups were essential. “You know how badass you feel when you wear one of my plaid shirts.”

Mary Margaret was quiet for a second. “Which shoes?”

“My Toms.”

“All right, I’ll drop by. I’ll be there in a minute or two!”

The call ended, and Emma let out a shaky breath. That had been close!

After sending Mary Margaret on her way with the change of clothes and the demand that she give Ruby a huge hug for her, she got back to work. With Killian still using the downstairs bathroom, she wouldn’t be able to re-tile it until she kicked him out during the final week of the renovation. Kitchen backsplash would also wait until then, since she had to make sure that _everything_ was set—once the backsplash was in, making any changes to the layout of the cabinets or appliances was not going to happen.

What about the master bathroom? She headed upstairs.

The room was almost entirely gutted and refinished; the shower stall had taken shape quite nicely, and all of the plumbing was done. Tiling was the next step here; she got to work. Fortunately, soon after she started, the electrician informed her that the wiring was now all set. Now, not only could she work under better lighting, but she also didn’t have to worry about Killian using her apartment any longer.

“Swan?”

“Oh, hey!” She looked up from where she was crouching, finding Killian leaning in the doorframe, as if she’d summoned him by thinking about him. “What time is it?”

“Not quite six-thirty.” Okay, so many more time had passed than she’d thought. “Thank you again for today and yesterday.”

“Of course.” She stood, wiped her hands on her pants, and reached out for the key he was holding up. “Any trouble?”

“None whatsoever. I had the most productive couple of days since the renovation started, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well, the noise is usually distracting.”

“Aye, that it is.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I didn’t expect you’d still be here.”

“I was in the zone,” she admitted. It happened from time to time, and while it ate into her schedule and often left her exhausted the next day, it usually pushed along the renovation timeline a little bit.

“Have you eaten?” She shook her head. “I was going to order a pizza. You’re welcome to stay and have some.”

She was about to say, “Sure, great, thanks!” The words were on the tip of her tongue, about to spill out.

But she had _just_ read both her contract _and_ his. Sharing a meal with the homeowner, _alone_ , with no cameras around, was fraternization. If anyone found out, best case scenario would involve a massive reprimand. Worst case? The network might consider dropping the show.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Perhaps it would be more appropriate if I told you I was ordering pizza for myself, and that you were welcome to grab a slice or two—or four—while we each minded our own business.”

“Yeah, okay,” she breathed. That would be fine. Homeowners offered her food all the time. She could eat pizza while making sure everything was squared away for tomorrow, and while he did … whatever. Not fraternization at all.

By the time she’d finished the tiling in the bathroom, the pizza had arrived; she was secretly pleased that Killian had ordered one that was half pepperoni and half green pepper and onion. If he did so because he wasn’t sure what she liked, he didn’t say anything. Nor did he say anything as he handed her a plastic cup filled with Sprite, even though she hadn’t asked.

She wandered about the house, soda in one hand and pizza slice in the other, trying to stick to her plan of actually making sure everything was in order for tomorrow. But it _was._ The trades had left everything ready to go, in the right place.

She was starving, even after her first slice. And now she had nothing to do while she ate.

“So, what are you doing?” she asked him as she grabbed another slice, pepperoni this time.

“Texting Liam and telling him to stop whining.”

“What’s he whining about?”

“My refusal to install wireless internet on my boat.”

“You can get wireless internet on a boat?” she asked. Wait, no, that wasn’t what she wanted to know. “Hold on—boat?”

“Aye, Swan, my boat.” She stared at him blankly. “I have a boat, love.”

“Right, yeah, I know. He’s _staying_ there?”

“Well, it’s a lot of money for him to fly out and rent a car when he needs to be here for filming, so he prefers it. Of course, it’s bloody irritating that he’s too stingy to pay for a hotel room, but he expects me to shell out for internet I’m not going to use.”

“That does seem a little silly.”

“It is. And he’s not even strapped for cash; he’s just such a miser about it that you’d never know.”

“It is nice of him to come out here for the show, then,” she said. Even if Liam had rubbed her the wrong way a few times, she could imagine that flying back and forth between London and Maine this many times, just because your brother was on a TV show, was quite a sacrifice.

“It’s his fault I’m even on it,” Killian replied a little bitterly. “I didn’t even apply—he did it behind my back.”

“Really?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

He frowned at her, like it was a stupid question. “Well, I think he thought it would be better to put my money towards a new house as opposed to all the legal fees.”

What was _that_ supposed to mean? But before she could ask, her phone rang; it was Mary Margaret. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m still at the house, why?”

“Oh, okay. It’s just that it’s like … almost nine. I didn’t know you’d been planning on such a late night.”

“I got caught up with tiling, but I just finished,” she lied. “I’ll be home soon, after I pack up the car. How was dinner with Ruby?”

“It was fine, same old. I’m going to take a bath, so I’ll talk to you when you get home.”

“All right, see you soon.” She let out a long breath after she hung up—she didn’t like lying to her sister. “Well, I guess that’s my cue. Thanks for the pizza.”

“Of course. And thank you for the use of your flat for these past couple days.”

“Yeah, no problem. Thanks for not blowing my cover.”

“That would be terribly bad form, Swan. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yep, see you tomorrow.”

By the time Emma got home, Mary Margaret was out of the bath, wrapped up in her huge puffy bathrobe, and curled up on the couch reading a magazine. “I thought you’d be out later,” Emma admitted as she took off her shoes. “Was traffic light?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mary Margaret said distractedly. “Hey, so, why was Killian here?”

She dropped the shoe she was prying off. “Um, _what?”_

“I was the last one out the door this morning and the first one home. Sometime during the day, someone pulled out one of the dining room chairs.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I came home at some point?”

“No,” her sister replied calmly. “Because you don’t wear Hugo Boss cologne.”

Shit.

“So why was he here?”

She sighed heavily. “I felt bad that he wasn’t going to be able to get any work done without electricity, and he can’t work from the library or anything like that, so I let him work from here.” She held up her hands defensively. “I scoured our contracts, like, a million times! I didn’t break the rules!”

“No, but you know that Regina _and_ the network will disapprove anyway.”

“I know. Look, please don’t tell anyone. It’s not gonna happen again. I promise.”

“Good. I know that what happened with Walsh wasn’t your fault, but it was really messy, and they’re not going to want to deal with anything like it again.”

Emma bristled. “I had _no_ control over that. This is _nothing_ like that!” She sank down on the couch next to Mary Margaret. “I hate that they still hold that over me. That was on _them_ during the screening process.”

“I know—I’m sorry. I am. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just … you’re not usually one to break the rules. I’m just trying to understand why you did.”

“I just feel bad for the guy, you know? I know his brother kind of forced him to be on the show, and with the asbestos and the plumbing and the electrical and the permit issues, he’s been having a shit time.”

“And you feel bad about the deck.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I would. Enough that I’d consider letting the guy use our apartment when we weren’t home. I’m just … honestly, I was worried that you were hooking up with him.”

“No,” Emma replied emphatically. “You know I’d never do that.”

“Mmm.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. Just … I don’t know, I was going to say don’t do it again, but I guess … if you do, just tell me?”

“I won’t do it again,” Emma replied. “Look, let’s change the subject. How was dinner with Ruby?”

Mary Margaret stared at her magazine so hard, Emma was convinced that the pages would burst into flame. “Um, I didn’t go to dinner with Ruby.”

“What? But—what?”

“I was with David.”

“Whoa! Why didn’t you tell me?” When she got no response, she gently pushed the magazine down. “Hello? Earth to Mary Margaret! Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“Remember how we were joking? About how he wasn’t like Neal?”

“Yeah. And he’s not, I can tell.”

“No, I mean …” Mary Margaret sighed and dropped the magazine onto the coffee table. “David _is_ married.”

“Oh, shit, _really?”_

“Separated,” she clarified. “He told me a soon as I got to his place this afternoon. Said the guilt was eating at him.”

“Well … separated isn’t exactly the same thing. He’s allowed to date, though, right?”

“He is, but his wife is best friends with Regina.”

 _Oh._ “Oh.” Well, that wasn’t great. “Their separation must be amicable if Regina is cool having David as one of the directors.”

“Only because he’s one of the better directors. Regina’s not the most forgiving person if she thinks you’ve screwed her over. David feels like she’s just looking for something to catch him on, so she can fire him.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Mary Margaret replied miserably. “I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight and it would be nice, but not _amazing_ or anything. And all that sexual tension would have just been tension, and nothing would come of it.”

“But it went well, didn’t it?”

“Yep. Because that’s just how my life works.” She put her head in her hands. “And now I can’t stop thinking about him! I hate this!”

“It’ll be okay. Look, I’m not going to tell _anyone_ , okay? What you and David do is _your_ business. No matter what Regina thinks.”

“Thanks.” Mary Margaret gave her a tired smile. “And I won’t tell about Killian, although …”

“It won’t happen again, okay? You have nothing to worry about.”

“Good.”

* * *

 

There were barely two weeks left in the renovation, and Emma was finally sitting down and forcing herself to make a decision about the master bathroom in Killian’s house.

She’d mostly given up on trying to solve the problem, partially since there wasn’t anything _obviously_ wrong with the bathroom (Killian liked the design just fine), and partially since she’d been too busy with the other details of the renovation, as well as the next episode.

She’d also delayed even more by building the dining table herself, using the shiplap leftover from demo. It was a fun project, a way to save a ton of money, and a welcome distraction from the bathroom problem.

But if she didn’t order the new vanity and sink _tonight_ , she was utterly fucked. It was time to stop procrastinating.

She pulled up her Pinterest board, filled with picture after picture of bathrooms. She compared each and every one to the bathroom she was designing—to the floor plan, to the renderings, to the photos of the unfinished space. She _never_ had this much trouble with a bathroom before in her entire life.

She was slowly narrowing down the problem, though. It wasn’t the toilet, its style or placement. Nor was it the shower stall or the little linen closet tucked behind it. She hadn’t misplaced the window or the door. The light fixture was perfect: classic without looking dated.

It had to be the vanity. But what was wrong with it? It was a great style; in fact, it looked almost like her own. And the sink was perfect, with a classy fixture and a deep round bowl. She loved the dark cabinetry with the light marbled countertop.

It did really look like her sink at home in Boston. She quickly went into her own photos and brought up a few of her place, when she’d taken photos to show off to a friend.

She felt a little frustrated at first; how the hell could she have accidentally designed Killian’s bathroom to look so similar to her own? It wasn’t identical by any stretch of the imagination. She had a tub and shower combo, a different mirror and light fixture, and a slightly different color palette. And she had a double sink—

Oh!

Her heart beat faster as she opened up the software and pulled up the designs for Killian’s house. A few clicks was all it took.

It was the sink. The space needed a double sink. That was it. That was the problem that had been plaguing for her weeks, and the solution had been in her own bathroom the entire time. Jesus.

Well, this wasn’t too difficult to fix. The vanity she’d picked out came in a slightly longer size that would be more appropriate, and the counter and bowls would be just as easy to source in the same material. She’d have to order another fixture, and it would take a little extra money to adjust the plumbing to accommodate two sinks instead of one. But all in all, it would cost less than a thousand dollars to change, and she had that much leftover from their shopping trip.

How would Killian react, though? He’d seemed very resistant to the idea of having two sinks, like it was some kind of insulting reminder that his wife was dead. But this space felt too empty with one.

And Killian was charismatic. He was handsome. He was kind. How could he possibly stay single? He _wouldn’t_ , and that was a fact. He’d move on romantically, and then he’d have to renovate his bathroom. So she was just doing him a huge favor. He’d thank her later.

As she placed the orders, her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Emma, it’s Liam Jones.”

“Oh, hey, Liam. What’s up?”

“I had a question for you about the back deck.”

“Uh huh?” She resisted the urge to remind him that she couldn’t have predicted that they’d have almost fifteen grand worth of issues with the house, that the deck was not her fault.

“How much additional money would we need to build it as planned?”

“Huh?”

Liam sighed. “I know we were supposed to have enough money for it, before problems with getting a permit meant it would cost almost two grand more than we’d planned. And I know that you’ve already gotten started on the balcony. But I just … how much would we need to go back to the deck?”

“About two grand,” she confirmed. “I actually was waiting to order the materials for the balcony until tomorrow; we’ve only just finished pouring cement for the supports. And we can use what we’ve already done to support the deck. But Liam, we don’t _have_ two thousand dollars lying around.”

He cleared his throat. “I know my little brother has been gabbing about my reputation as a miser—and I suppose there’s some truth to that. But I’ve plenty of my own money saved up, and well … I’d like to give him this. As a gift. Emma, he’s been through so much, and it was so difficult for him to even agree to try this. And I know how much he wanted the deck.”

“Wow, that’s really generous of you.” She cut him off, suspecting he could probably go on for several minutes about Killian deserving the deck. “I mean, I think if you can pay for it, we might be able to pull it off. I just need to draw up some plans and get the city to sign off on them.”

“Would we be able to do it within the renovation schedule?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” she admitted. “But I think Killian will be happy enough about it that he won’t care about going over schedule.”

“Actually … could we surprise him?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Um … I don’t know how we can surprise him when he lives there.”

“You’ll be asking him to vacate the premises during the final week, correct? Could you do it then?”

“Maybe, but the work we’ll have to do to support it will have to precede that.” She mulled it over. “I guess I could lie and say that the city asked us to do it for the balcony.”

“That would be much appreciated. I want to see his face when he realizes he has a deck.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She quickly pulled up the plans for the deck on her computer. “First off, let me work on getting approval for the deck. And we’ll have to have this conversation again, on camera, so I’ll have someone from the office call you to schedule it.”

“Wonderful. Emma, thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She’d already failed to follow through on the deck once. She didn’t want to do it again.

But the city approved of the plans, and Liam handed her a check, and with two weeks to go, she was digging up more and more of Killian’s back yard. Luckily, the man himself didn’t seem to notice.

In fact, Emma was a little concerned. Killian seemed to be hiding in his room a lot more when she was at the house. She knew it wasn’t just her, though; the other workers mentioned to her that sometimes, they didn’t even realize he was home until he went to use the bathroom. So at least it wasn’t personal. The renovation was probably just getting to him; there was so much noise and dust and _stress._ When she’d renovated her own condo, she’d crashed on Mary Margaret’s couch the whole time; she couldn’t imagine living in the reno zone.

The good news was that they were almost finished. The bad news, though, was that she was epically fucked when it came to the schedule. There was suddenly too much to do during the final week, thanks to the deck. If they hadn’t changed the plans last minute, the balcony would be finished, but now they had a single week to get the deck up. And that was only _one_ thing that had to happen.

The downstairs bathroom, which Killian had been using, needed to be refinished: they were changing the tiles, repainting, and replacing the light fixture and mirror. Thankfully, the toilet, sink, and tub didn’t need to be replaced. The kitchen cabinets were almost finished, but the countertops were coming in on the final Monday, and the doors and pulls needed to be installed. The spare room, where Killian had been living, had to be emptied of his belongings so they could repaint it and refinish the hardwood to match the rest of the house.

The entire interior needed to be painted, and all the furniture had to be brought in and staged. At least Mary Margaret was helpful with staging the house. Emma would carry stuff in, and while her back was turned for a moment, Mary Margaret would somehow magic everything into place.

Okay, well, it wasn’t magic—it took time. Which was why Emma had to hurry things along.

She stretched the budget as tight as she could to pay for labor, but when it came down to it, as it always did in these situations, she was left doing as much of the work she possibly could all by herself.

With two weeks to go, she was on site every day by seven in the morning (and sometimes as early as six), stopping every few hours to pee, eat a snack, and drink some Gatorade before jumping right back in, and only stopping around nine or ten in the evening. They were already over-budget, even if the two grand they were over was a gift from Liam; she didn’t want to go over-schedule as well.

At the end of the week, she was painting the master bedroom when she heard someone clearing their throat to get her attention.

“Oh, hey, Killian.”

“Swan, what are you still doing here?” She gave him a look and held up her roller. “I know, I just mean, can’t this wait till tomorrow? There’s still an entire week left, love.”

“I know, I just …” She couldn’t tell him the truth, that there was a huge project that they were leaving till the last minute. “I just want to get it done.”

“You’ve been ‘getting it done’ for nearly fourteen hours a day all week. You need a break, darling.”

“Well, I have to finish this wall,” she said pointedly. “It’s the only one I haven’t finished a second coat on, and if I keep talking to you, it’s going to dry funny.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “By all means, continue.”

She thought he would go downstairs, but instead, he examined the room as she worked. “It’ll look different with furniture. And sunlight,” she promised.

“No, it looks fantastic.” He smiled a little. “I recall when I first looked at this house, this room was so dark and felt so cramped.”

“Huge windows and light paint will fix that right up,” she said cheerily before turning back to the wall. She heard him wandering around a bit, looking into the master closet (which was still missing its doors—another thing she was supposed to have done already) and wandering into the bathroom.

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is there a double sink in here?”

She sighed. “Look, can we talk about this when I’m done?”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” she said, maybe a little too angrily. But she’d been on site since six in the morning, and whatever time it was, it was definitely late and she was definitely cranky. “Let me finish this up, okay? I’ll only be another ten minutes, and then maybe ten minutes cleaning up.”

He huffed a little before leaving the room; she could hear him descending the stairs a bit roughly. She sighed; at least he wasn’t going to get angry on camera during the reveal?

As expected, she finished up and headed down into the garage, where there were a washer, a dryer, and an industrial sink, which she used to wash her brushes and rollers, and rinse out the paint trays. She took a deep breath before returning inside.

A cool breeze caught her attention; Killian had opened up the french doors to what he thought would become a balcony, and was sitting with his legs hanging off the side of the house. She would have chuckled, except she knew he was probably frustrated with her. Slowly walked towards him, and when he didn’t say anything, she sank down beside him.

“Look,” she said, trying not to get distracted by the gorgeous nighttime view of the harbor. “I didn’t want to admit this to you, but ever since I did up the designs for this place, I’ve felt like there was something wrong with the bathroom. Mary Margaret agreed with me—hell, even Liam noticed something was off about it. I finally figured out what was wrong, which was that it needed a double sink, and I fixed it. It didn’t affect your budget or the timeline of the renovation.”

He began to interrupt, but she kept going. “I _know_ how you felt about having a double sink, and I swear, I did try to do what you wanted. But I’ve been doing this for a while, and sometimes, I just know what a house needs, or what a room needs. And I didn’t want you to wake up one day and realize that you didn’t like your master bathroom. I want you to love this house, okay?”

“I’m not angry with you, darling,” he said quietly. “I’m angry because I felt the same way about the designs. It’s why Liam asked you about them; I was embarrassed and didn’t want to seem ungrateful, especially when I couldn’t articulate what it was about the bathroom I didn’t like. And the reason the designs felt wrong was that I was a stubborn arse.”

“I know you miss your wife,” she said gently. “I didn’t want the bathroom to be a reminder that you’d eventually move on. I really tried.”

He didn’t reply. Instead he reached over to his side and pulled back a beer, cap already off, which he handed to her. Before she could remind him that this wasn’t something they could do, he revealed a second beer for himself, and he spoke.

“Did you read the letter I wrote to the sellers?”

It wasn’t a question she ever expected him to ask. “No.”

“Why not? I wrote it knowing you and your sister would read it.”

“She did. But she’s the realtor. I figured I already knew your story.”

“You know that my wife died, and that I didn’t want to leave our apartment.”

“Right.”

He sighed and took a swig of his beer. “When I graduated from university, I wanted to go on adventures. I didn’t just want to travel and be a tourist, mind you. I want to sail in unusual places. I wanted to go on strange hikes. I wanted to explore ruins and climb mountains. I wanted to be one of those adventurers you read about when you’re a kid.

“Fortunately, I found a great job, where I could both work remotely _and_ go on business trips. Generous vacation time as well. I was living my dream. And then, one night when I was home visiting Liam, I went out to a pub and met Milah.

“She was still married at the time, miserably so. She was at the pub that evening because she couldn’t take one more second of her husband’s company. I had no idea she was married and struck up a conversation with her, telling her all about my travels.

“I saw her every damn night during that visit, and before I left, I gave her my email address. We barely communicated, just a few emails here and there, until I returned to London several months later. We met up again, at the same pub, but this time … it was as though a fire had just _ignited._ In both of us.

“She’d been desperate to travel, to see the world, to live the adventures she heard about from me. Her husband, whose professional reputation was rather mediocre, continued to insist she stay home with their young son so he could find a way to fix his own career. And while I loved my life very much, I was growing lonely, and the thought of sharing those adventures with someone like-minded was very appealing.

“You can guess what happened,” he said, wistfully, taking another sip of beer. “She left him, got a job at the same firm that I worked at, and began her own adventures. Sometimes, we were able to travel together—we saw so many corners of the world, made love in so many others—and sometimes we didn’t. But even then, when either one of us had an internet connection or phone reception, we were texting or calling or emailing or Facetiming.

“Eventually, though, we both came to the same conclusion: we loved traveling, especially together, but we were ready to settle down a bit. We got married and chose New York City as our home base, since our firm had a location there. We purchased the _Jolly Roger_ so we could still set sail on adventures when we had cabin fever.

“Milah loved her son very much, but her husband had gained full custody of the boy during their divorce, and with her travel schedule, it was difficult for her to see him anyway. But even though her son was nearing his teens, she and I decided it was time to try for a family of our own. After all, we had this beautiful life together, you know? A child would just add to our good fortune.

“We tried and we tried, with no success. Eventually, Milah started feeling ill, and we thought perhaps it was morning sickness, and that her cramps were from pregnancy. But with all the tests coming up negative, and her illness growing more serious, we knew it was time to see a doctor."

“What was it?” Emma asked quietly, knowing that whatever it had been, it had ended Milah’s life.

“Stage three endometrial cancer,” he whispered.

“Shit.”

“Aye.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “If only that had been it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Milah’s husband had finally found professional success,” he explained. “Specifically in real estate. And I mean, he was _wildly_ successful, terrifyingly so. And he’d moved to New York, no longer after we did. Soon after Milah’s diagnosis, he purchased our building.”

Oh shit.

“He kept trying to evict us, but thanks to renter’s rights _and_ Milah’s tenacity, he constantly failed. Even as she grew more and more ill, she was always the first one on the phone, verbally eviscerating him for his dirty tactics. But I was so angry at him; he ruined the last year of her life. I still believe she could have lived another year or two, had he not exacerbated her illness with stress.

“After—” his voice broke, “—after she passed, all of a sudden, he’d decided I didn’t make enough money as a single man to pay his rent. He found a way, essentially, to force me out. I was still paying off all the medical debt from all the treatments—her doctors had been cautiously optimistic that she would pull through, and so we threw as much money at medical treatments as we could. Her ex-husband knew that I was struggling, financially and emotionally.

“With her life insurance and my salary, I was able to pay off the debt while also saving up for what I knew would be a rough legal battle to keep the apartment.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked. “You wanted to stay there—it’s not a secret.”

“Well, part of it has been having a self-righteous prat for an older brother,” he said with a little humor. “Liam refused to let me spend tens of thousands of dollars on a legal battle I wasn’t sure I could win.” He sighed. “But Milah made me promise that I wouldn’t go down with the ship, as it were.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me that I was too good to let myself get dragged down in a petty legal squabble, that her ex didn’t deserve my time and money. That I should find a way to move on, even if it meant leaving our home and finding a new one.”

He finally looked up at her, and she saw that he was holding back tears. “I didn’t want to move on, Emma. Leaving that apartment was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But she was right. I needed to find a new home. And as much as I hate to admit when Liam is right, I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I picked this house. And I’m glad you’re here, helping me make it into a home.”

“It’s what I do,” she said quietly.

She was about to thank him for telling her about his past, for piecing together the puzzle that she’d been struggling with since the day she’d met him. But then he was kissing her, and _oh he was kissing her,_ oh god, wow, it was—

“Killian, no, wait.” Her hormones were screaming at her in protest. “We really can’t do this.”

“I know,” he whispered, his lips still millimeters from hers. “I know, but I just—Emma, I can’t help it.”

“You have to,” she said, swallowing hard and pulling away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have stayed so late. Or accepted the beer—thanks for the beer.” She’d barely had any to drink, as engrossed as she’d been in his story, she she still felt like an idiot for taking it in the first place.

“I know it’s against the contract, but—”

“Exactly,” she reminded him. “I have to go, it’s almost midnight.”

“At least let me take you home,” he pleaded. “You’re in no condition to drive.”

“Neither are you,” she pointed out, gesturing at his empty beer bottle. “Um, there’s a week left in the renovation. We’re going to be asking you to leave tomorrow afternoon. I just thought I’d give you the heads up so you can pack up tomorrow before we film. You have a place to stay?”

His cheeks were flushed, probably with embarrassment. “Aye, I’m bunking with Liam on the boat.”

“Okay, great.” Her enthusiasm was fake, but she felt safer slipping into her Fix-It Sister persona at the moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night.”

She probably should have driven a few miles below the speed limit, given her exhaustion, but instead, she made it home in record time. And spent the whole night staring at her ceiling, thinking about how good the kiss had been, how right it had felt, and how it couldn’t ever happen again.


	3. Part III

Seeing Killian during filming the next day was extremely awkward, but once they wrapped and he and Liam left, Emma sighed with relief. Within about five minutes, she and her workers were dragging the deck materials out to the backyard, ready to get started on a project that realistically should take twice as much time as they had left.

She tried not to think about what had happened last night, throwing herself into as much of the work as possible to distract herself. But it wasn’t easy to do. Originally, she’d wanted to finish up the master bathroom; she’d been so proud of herself for figuring out the problem, and since the space was so eerily similar to her own bathroom, it almost felt like she was giving Killian a little piece of herself as a gift.

And now that was _way_ inappropriate to be feeling, given that they’d locked lips. And that she’d enjoyed said lip lock.

At first, she set to work on the spare room, reasoning that the outdated wallpaper and poorly finished hardwood would keep her mind off of what happened. They didn’t. The now empty room smelled like Killian. No wonder Mary Margaret had instantly known the man had been at their apartment; Emma had grown accustomed to his scent, but in a small room that he’d been living in for a month, it was overwhelming.

Next, she tried to redo the tile the downstairs bathroom and start painting the walls. But the tile and paint was the same as what they’d selected for the master bathroom, which got her thinking about the double sinks and Killian and everything he’d told her—

Then she tried the office, but she just thought about how he could sit and relax at his desk, looking out at the view—

In the bedroom, she could imagine him waking up every morning—she could imagine waking up _beside_ him—

In the kitchen, she couldn’t stop thinking about how together, they’d accidentally picked the same cabinets she had in her apartment here in Maine. In the living and dining area, she was right there, next to the French doors, where she’d sat with him as the walls separating homeowner and general contractor had crumbled down. And the deck, the surprise from Liam, the promise she was so happy she got to keep, was just as difficult to work on.

Was there a single room in this fucking house that she could be in without thinking about him?

She resigned herself to finishing the downstairs bathroom. It was the least painful room to be in, even if she remembered, every so often, that Killian had been in here, naked in the shower.

Eventually, the bathroom was done, and she had to move on. With the majority of the trades working on the deck, there was plenty left to do in the house, although someone had helpfully finished up most of the kitchen. She finished putting on the last few doors and drawer fronts before sucking up her fear and discomfort and heading upstairs to finish the master bathroom.

At least, she told herself as she surveyed her work at the end of the day, it didn’t look identical to her own bathroom. The color scheme was different enough; she’d been more daring with the tile patterns in her own tub surround, and she had a red accent wall and a more ornate mirror. This bathroom was much more to Killian’s tastes. And it was done; with one last sad glance at the double sink, her triumph, she went to work on the master closet. At least that was less emotionally fraught.

By the time Mary Margaret arrived, a few days before the end of the renovation, the only work that was still on-going was the deck, and Emma had gotten maybe three hours of sleep a night. It wasn’t that she was working the entire time; she forced herself to call it quits by ten o’clock every night at the latest. But then she’d go home and think about the house, and Killian, and the kiss they’d shared, and then she wouldn’t sleep.

It didn’t help that she’d been dreading this final stage of the renovation. She was always a little ambivalent about it anyway. On the one hand, it was a lot of fun to set up the space, and to actually make the house feel like a home, ready to be lived in. On the other hand, she felt really weird going through people’s stuff. As she’d told Killian, she and Mary Margaret didn’t go through clothing or toiletries or anything. But they usually used lots of kitchenware and decor and furniture, and Emma always felt like a snoop.

The fact that she was going to be handling so much of _Killian’s_ stuff, though, made it even worse.

They started with the kitchen, putting away dishes, with Mary Margaret arranging everything in the cabinets with well-practiced precision. Every so often, she’d have to rearrange dishware or glassware, having misjudged what would fit in each cupboard. But she’d been doing this for so long, it was like she had a sixth sense for where each and every plate and glass and fork needed to go. Emma would either stand back and watch, or hand over pieces of kitchenware one at a time while her sister put everything in the perfect place.

As Emma worked on setting up the guest bedroom, which now (mercifully) smelled like a freshly painted room instead of _Killian_ , Mary Margaret set the handmade dining table, which was surrounded by chairs Emma had found at an estate sale, and then refinished and reupholstered herself. Her sister, remembering Killian’s simple and traditional tastes, didn’t overdo the table settings; Emma was grateful that she didn’t have to give her a reminder.

The couch hadn’t yet arrived (Mary Margaret had all but shouted at the furniture supplier, who had agreed to rush shipping at no extra cost so it would arrive before Killian and Liam did), and so the sisters headed upstairs. When the bedroom set had been delivered, the delivery men had set it all up, and so Emma took the opportunity to work on the office while Mary Margaret took over the bedroom decor.

Good. She couldn’t handle making that bed. Not when she couldn’t stop thinking about waking up in it with him.

 _God,_ she had to stop thinking about him like that. It was just _one_ kiss! One kiss, and she’d even stopped it there! She’d said no, said it wouldn’t happen. Rejected him. Ended things before they could start. So why was she still hung up on him? Why was she hung up in the first place?

She needed to focus. She set up the desk as best she could, leaving room for his laptop (thirteen inch Macbook Air— _why did she remember that?)_. She took her time dragging the potted plant from the backyard up the stairs, reasoning that she didn’t want to damage the newly finished wood. She tested the blinds a few times, telling herself that she just had to make sure they wouldn’t get caught on the desk. As she’d planned, the desk sat before a window that essentially took up the _entire_ wall that faced east, towards the harbor. She wanted the desk as close as possible to the glass “wall” without getting in the way of the blinds.

She spent too long setting up the bookshelf. After all, she wanted the books to look organized, which meant she needed to consider authors, genres, book size, color, and style. That was her excuse for poring over each book, and thinking about why Killian owned it. He had a mix of almost everything: both classic and contemporary literature, a little bit of mystery and science fiction, plenty of non-fiction—lots of variety there, too—and of course, books about sailing. She grinned every time she saw a book that she also owned, or had read and loved.

The sun was setting by the time she finished, and she hadn’t yet put up anything on the walls. She headed into the hallway, reluctant to actually go into the bedroom. “How’s it going, Mary Margaret?”

“Almost done—well, except for hanging stuff up. Want to do that tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” Her sister exited, shutting off the lights as she did. Emma was relieved that the room was now a little too dark for her to see more than just shapes of furniture. “So we’ll do that and the living room, and then we’ll straighten up the garage.” The garage was, of course, a fucking mess of half-filled boxes and unopened ones. They would need to finish staging the house before consolidating the stuff they didn’t use, resealing the boxes, and stacking them up with the rest of Killian’s belongings.

“Sounds good.”

“Wanna grab dinner at Granny’s?”

Emma moaned. “Yes! Can we do pick-up, though? I desperately want to take my shoes off, and I don’t think the owner will approve of that.”

Within an hour, Emma was comfortably sitting on her own couch, sans shoes, waiting for Mary Margaret to bring over a bunch of napkins so they wouldn’t accidentally destroy the living room with their greasy food. “This is the best thing to happen to me in weeks,” Emma said, groaning at the smell of onion rings.

“Really?” Mary Margaret asked skeptically. “I thought the renovation was going well. It _looks_ like it went well.”

“Thanks,” Emma replied sincerely. “It only looks like that because I’ve barely slept these past couple weeks.”

Mary Margaret grimaced. “True. I’ve noticed. Are you okay? Is it just normal reno stress?”

Emma shifted uncomfortably. “No,” she admitted quietly.

Mary Margaret instantly snapped to attention. “What happened?”

“Killian told me what happened—what he put in the letter, I mean.”

Mary Margaret’s mouth turned into an “O” for a moment before she nodded and spoke. “About his wife’s ex-husband?” she asked. “And what she made him promise?”

“Yep. He saw the double sink and got upset. I thought he was mad at me, since I changed the plan without his permission, but he was mad at himself. And then he just … just told me everything.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Emma.”

“Really?”

“I do. He promised his wife that he’d move on and find a new home. You probably think he’s implying he wants to make a new home with _you_. I know it might feel that way, because it’s very poetic, and you’re _literally_ building a new home for him—”

“He kissed me.”

“What?”

“He told me all that stuff, and then he kissed me.”

Mary Margaret practically fell into the couch, disbelief all over her face. “Okay, wow. I didn’t expect that. Ignore what I just said. What happened?”

“I told him we couldn’t. I let him know he needed to get ready to leave the next day. He tried to get me to let him drive me home because I was tired, but he’d been drinking, so I told him no. And then I left. I didn’t talk to him really at all outside of filming, either. Just like … good morning, are you all set to leave today, we’ll see you in a week, et cetera.”

“Well, damn. I owe David fifty bucks.”

“Seriously?”

“Sorry.”

“So you’re still seeing him? I know I haven’t been around much to ask.”

“Yeah, I mean, he and his wife agreed they could see other people. And he’s sort of decided he doesn’t care what happens to him professionally.” Mary Margaret smiled a little. “It’s a little overly sweet and noble, but I kind of like it. I don’t _want_ him to piss Regina off, especially since he’d probably have to go back to LA to find work if she fires him or doesn’t renew his contract. But the whole, ‘I don’t care! I just want to be with you!’ bit is nice.”

Emma grinned, in spite of her own emotional turmoil. “I’m glad. It was getting really annoying watching you two flirt and not do anything about it.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be any better when we film,” she admitted with a sly grin. “It’s hard to keep our hands off each other, even when we might get caught. Especially when we might get caught.”

“Nope, too much info,” Emma protested.

Mary Margaret sighed happily before digging into her burger. “So what are _you_ going to do?”

“What’s there to do?” Emma asked around a mouthful of onion ring. “We can’t date.”

“We’re almost done with his episode.”

“So?”

“So, what, do you think the terms apply after he’s all done with the show? Are you not supposed to ever date or something?”

“Stop it. I’m allowed to date, just not guys from the show. It’s inappropriate and you know it.”

“What, so if we finish filming, and then like … five years down the line, you bump into him, you’re not allowed to _fraternize?”_

“But it’s not five years down the line. It’s _now.”_

“Maybe you should talk to Regina.”

“Regina’s going to kill me.”

“True. But your other option is to just do nothing, pine after him and let him pine after you, and then spend the rest of your life with him as your what-if guy.”

“That’s fine.”

Mary Margaret snorted. “Look, I know after what happened with Neal, you’re not looking to jump into a relationship headfirst. But you _clearly_ like him. I doubt you’d have let him get work done here, or felt as guilty over the whole deck fiasco, if you didn’t.”

“That doesn’t matter, and you know it. Can we stop talking about this, please? It’s not like this just happened _tonight.”_

“Fine.”

The next morning, bright and early, she and Mary Margaret finished staging the house. There had been a painful moment when Emma uncovered a large canvas photo of a woman she just _knew_ was Milah. Finding it didn’t hurt because of jealously. Instead, she just felt overwhelming sadness: here was the woman who had fought so long and hard to be with Killian, making her own sacrifices to ensure they had a life together. And even as she was dying, she insisted that Killian move on and find happiness again.

She wished she could have met her.

The couch arrived mid-afternoon, the last piece of _anything_ that had to be set up inside. The deck was built, and they just had to wait till tomorrow morning for the stain to dry. The deck furniture—a table with an umbrella and a set of chairs, a couple of lounge chairs, and a grill that had been on sale—was in the garage, already unwrapped and set up, ready to be carried out.

As a truck came and took away the giant dumpster that had been sitting in the driveway for the past six weeks, Regina called. “How is everything going?”

“Fine. We just finished up. Truck’s hauling away the trash as we speak.”

“Excellent!”

“Well, I mean, we do have to set up the deck tomorrow morning, but we’ll have plenty of time before we film.”

“Good. It’s nice that we were able to keep the deck. Listen, do you mind dropping by the office before you go home? I need your opinion on a renovation for another show—the network asked for you specifically.”

“Oh.” That was _very_ flattering. “Sure, I can be there in thirty minutes.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

“What’s up?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Regina wants me to come take a look at some stuff—the network asked for me, apparently.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna head over there. Wanna come with me?”

Mary Margaret shifted her weight back and forth a bit on her feet. “I would, but …”

“David?”

“Yeah. Sorry, is that okay?”

Emma shrugged. “You know that I don’t disapprove. Besides, Regina didn’t say she expected both of us.” She smiled and gripped her sister’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”

Mary Margaret returned her grin. “See you there.”

When Emma got to the office suite, Regina quickly ushered her into her own private office. “We’re not going to the design room?” Emma asked. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Sorry, I lied,” Regina said apologetically.

“What? Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you privately about some issues that have come up.”

Emma froze in her seat. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“Mary Margaret had been a little … off lately. I think she’s avoiding me; whenever we’ve met about the next episodes, she barely talks to me and leaves right away. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” Emma replied. “Look, if you think she’s upset, why don’t you ask her?”

Regina tapped a pen against the desk, contemplating something. “Because that’s not the only thing I wanted to talk to you about, and I thought it would be an easier conversation in person.”

Emma could hear a roaring in her ears. “Okay, well … what is it?”

“Killian Jones approached me about his contract a couple weeks ago. He had some very specific questions about it, and the whole conversation was really intense.”

“What kinds of questions?”

“About all the rules prohibiting him and his brother from spending time with either you or Mary Margaret socially. He was especially curious about what he referred to as a ‘statute of limitations’ once the episode was finished, and what sorts of penalties you or Mary Margaret might incur if the contract were violated.”

Regina sighed heavily. “Look, Emma, I don’t want to throw around accusations here, but if Mary Margaret and Killian are involved, this could be a really serious problem. I don’t mind hiding it from the network, but I am a bit concerned. I remember what happened with Walsh.”

“Regina, Walsh was a stalker,” Emma reminded her. “You know I did _nothing_ to encourage him at any point. We didn’t really adjust the contract all that much after he was on the show, but he would have ignored the new rules anyway.”

“Fair enough. Look, we just have one more day of filming, so they just need to keep it under wraps until that’s done. Then, we can all pretend that there was nothing going on between them until the episode was finished; the network won’t be able to do anything, and we can spin it as a cute love story to boost ratings. Maybe even do a special down the line if things work out.”

On the one hand, Emma felt a tiny flicker of hope. Regina’s reservations only seemed to extend as far as the episode, which meant that there _was_ an end to when the contract applied to Killian. But on the other hand—

“Mary Margaret’s seeing _David,”_ she blurted out. “That’s why she’s been avoiding you. She knows you’re friends with his wife.”

Regina stared at her in shock for a full five seconds before laughing. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah!”

“Why didn’t she say anything?”

“Like I said, you’re friends with his wife, so …”

“Well, I mean, true, she’s definitely getting me in the divorce, as it were. But I can’t believe Mary Margaret thought I’d be upset over it!”

“After what happened with me and Neal? Or you and Robin?”

Regina’s laughter faded a bit. “This is different from Neal. David didn’t lie about being married, and if we’re being honest, I was glad to fire Mr. Cassidy. And I thought she knew I’d forgiven her for what happened with Robin.”

“She still feels guilty, I guess. I know you guys got in a lot of trouble with the network.”

“And besides getting reprimanded by the network heads, nothing happened to us,” Regina reminded her. “Robin and I now produce two of the most highly rated shows they’ve got, and now they want to feature us in the magazine.”

“That’s great!”

Regina frowned. “If Mary Margaret’s seeing David, then why did Killian Jones approach me about the contract?”

It was the moment of truth—Emma could come clean, or she could keep hiding. “I guess he didn’t know she was seeing someone already,” she said, hating herself for every word that came out of her mouth.

“I see.” Emma could tell from Regina’s expression that she wasn’t buying the story, but at least she knew better than to press further. “Well, anyway, can you let your sister know that it’s okay if she’s dating David? She doesn’t have to hide it. It’s not even as though it’ll affect the divorce proceedings; Kathryn has a boyfriend anyway.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her when I get home. I’ll see you during editing?”

“Sounds good.”

It was all she could do to drive responsibly as she raced home, trying to process what she’d been told.

She’d just spent the past week telling herself that _nothing_ could happen with Killian. She’d rejected him hard during their last real conversation. And _now_ she found out that it was a possibility when she’d spent so much time talking herself out of it?

This just wasn’t fair. She hadn’t even been _thinking_ about him like that until he’d kissed her. Sure, she’d always thought he was handsome and charming, and yeah, she was maybe going above and beyond trying to give him his dream house. She couldn’t imagine letting another homeowner use her apartment, but it had just sort of _happened_ with him.

And there was the deck promise and the double sink in the master bath, and how many pieces of furniture he’d picked out that she’d loved, and the kitchen cabinets, and how _badly_ she’d wanted him to pick this house …

This had never happened before. It hadn’t happened with the other single homeowner who wasn’t Walsh (Graham had been nice, and there had been light flirting, but it was just … that). It hadn’t happened with any of the married homeowners who’d hit on her, or who were handsome, or who’d had sob stories.

She’d never spent two hours reading over contracts so she could let someone use her internet.

Jesus fucking Christ, what had she gotten herself into?

When she got home, Mary Margaret was putting the finishing touches on a grilled chicken salad. “Hey, how did it go?”

Emma figured beating around the bush wouldn’t be the best course of action here. “Regina actually thought you and Killian were hooking up. Is there enough salad for both of us?”

“What? Yes. What?”

“Great, thanks.” She grabbed a plate and held it out for Mary Margaret to scoop salad onto. “Yeah, she’d noticed you were avoiding her.”

“Why would she assume I was hooking up with Killian, though?”

“Apparently, he asked about the contract. How long the whole ‘no fraternization’ thing lasted. She put two and two together, just the wrong two and two, I guess.” She grabbed a fork and plopped herself down at the dining table, trying to ignore the fact that it was the same chair Killian had sat in.

“Well, did you tell her?”

“Tell her what? That Killian was asking about _me_ , or the _real_ reason you were avoiding her?”

“Either? At _least_ that she knows I’m not seeing Killian.”

“I … may have told her about David.”

Mary Margaret dropped into the chair across from her, looking like she’d just been told she had a terminal illness (no no no don’t think about that, don’t think about how Milah died, and made him promise—). “You told her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. She doesn’t care. She asked me to tell you that it was fine with her. Apparently, David’s wife has a boyfriend of her own anyway. Everyone’s fine—no one cares.”

“Oh.” Mary Margaret blushed. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to sneak around now, at least. That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” Her sister seemed to realize that this was a _good_ thing. “Sorry, I was just expecting the executioner, you know.”

“You’re totally in the clear. Bang away.”

Mary Margaret blushed and rolled her eyes. “Anyway, so Killian asked about the contract? Did you tell her why?”

Emma fidgeted. “No, I chickened out. I just said he probably didn’t know you weren’t single.”

“Did she say anything, though? Like, how did she react to it?”

“To him asking?”

“Yeah.”

“She said that I should tell you guys to keep it in your pants until we were done with the episode.”

“Done filming? Done editing? Done airing?”

“Filming.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“I know. She said that she’d just spin it like you started dating afterwards.”

“You mean _you.”_

“I don’t even know,” she admitted.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Well, you’ll see him again tomorrow. If you don’t decide by then, it’s not like we’ll mysteriously lose his contact information.”

That was true. She could just keep his cell phone number in her phone. And she had his address; she’d memorized it after having so much stuff shipped there. And she had access to his application, even now; his email address was _right there_ , easily found.

This was good, then. She could just wait it out. This was just a crush, after all, for both of them. She was getting swept up in his tragic backstory, and he was associating her with the new home he’d promised to find just because she was the one building it. After filming was done, they’d go their separate ways and two or three weeks later, while she was neck deep in the next episode, she would realize she’d all but forgotten about Killian Jones.

* * *

 

The deck was set up, looking nice and relaxing with the great outdoor furniture. The garage had been tidied, with all the boxes consolidated, resealed, and stacked neatly off to the side with the labels facing outward. There were fresh flowers in a vase by the door, fresh fruit in a bowl on the kitchen peninsula, and a few snacks, staples, and treats in the refrigerator and the pantry cupboard. There were candles lit in the master bathroom, and all the plants had been watered.

It was ready.

Emma and Mary Margaret finished filming their, “Oh no, they’re here and we’re not done!” clip about an hour before the brothers were scheduled to arrive, and then headed out onto the deck to relax a bit. The crew would be filming the rest of the house while it was still empty and untouched by the brothers Jones.

Mary Margaret had bought a ton of fresh lemonade from a nearby farmstand, and she’d excitedly poured it over ice into four collins glasses. Emma didn’t bother to ask where the straws and cocktail umbrellas came from. Or the little tray the glasses sat on.

Either way, they each grabbed one of the glasses and got comfortable on the lounge chairs. “You did a great job, Emma.”

“Thanks. You can thank Liam for the deck.”

“You would have found a way.”

“I wish. The balcony would have been too tiny.”

“True.” They were quiet while they sipped their lemonade. “Do you know what you’re going to do yet?”

“Nope.”

“Fair enough.” More quiet. “I think you should go for it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Then you guys can invite me over and I can chill on the deck.”

“Oh, gee, thanks.”

“No problem.”

After a lemonade refill for each of them, and then the realization that they were going to get badly sunburned, they headed back inside; Mary Margaret produced some washi tape and a silver sharpie, which she used to make little flags on the straws, labeled with their four names. “Clever.”

“I’m extremely clever,” Mary Margaret agreed.

“Very true.” It was David, making his way downstairs with the rest of the crew. “We’re all set, by the way.”

“Did you tell him?” Emma asked her sister. Mary Margaret shook her head.

“Tell me what?” David asked suspiciously.

Mary Margaret sighed, but she clearly couldn’t help her shy grin. “Uh, Regina found out about us,” she said gently. “It’s okay—apparently she doesn’t care. And Kathryn’s seeing someone, too.”

“Oh,” David said. “Are you sure she’s okay with it?”

“She laughed when she found out you were worried,” Emma told him.

“In that case,” he said, before striding up to Mary Margaret, embracing her, and kissing her passionately.

“Okay, did not need to see that, thanks.”

“Sorry,” Mary Margaret said breathlessly as she broke the kiss. “All right, I guess we’ll get our hair and make-up touched up. What time is it?” she asked David.

“Nearly noon. The guys should be here any minute.” Emma’s stomach swooped unexpectedly before Mary Margaret dragged her out to the make-up van for touch-ups.

If Emma asked for a little bit more eyeliner and lipstick than usual, or was pickier about her hair, Mary Margaret didn’t mention it.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” While they’d been in hair and make-up, the brothers had pulled up, parking one behind the other. Liam led the way. “We’re thrilled to see the house.”

“Aye, I’m glad this process is over,” Killian said dourly. His attitude reminded Emma of their first couple of days filming, and her heart sank.

“Well, we’re really pleased with how the house turned out. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” Liam said, his smile a little forced. When he turned to look at Emma, she could tell why: she’d upset his little brother, after all.

“Hey there,” David said, coming over and getting their attention. “We’re so excited to show you the house—you are going to absolutely love it. These ladies did an amazing job, and you’re barely going to recognize it.”

“I was living here, mate,” Killian reminded him.

“I know,” David said. “And you still won’t recognize it. Anyway, we’re going to get started, filming you guys walking up to the house and commenting to each other about how you’re feeling about seeing the finished product. Okay? Then we’ll film you opening the door, but this time, we’re going to have a curtain up so you won’t be able to see anything.”

“So this will be a _real_ surprise?” Liam asked a little sarcastically, clearly recalling the first house they’d looked at.

“Yep. Ready to start?”

“Aye,” Killian said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get it over with.” David turned and lifted an eyebrow questioningly at Mary Margaret and Emma, but they both just shrugged. It wasn’t like they could talk about what had happened. Instead, the Jones brothers walked a ways down the sidewalk, and Emma and Mary Margaret headed inside the house, making sure the curtain was set up properly.

“Do you want to say, ‘Welcome home?’” Mary Margaret asked. They usually traded off.

“No,” Emma said softly.

“Okay.” Mary Margaret paused. “I’m sorry he’s acting like this.”

“Me, too.” She’d thought that seeing him would just feel like, _oh, okay in the light of day with plenty of sleep I’m not feeling it anymore._ But now, refreshed and alert, it was even worse than before, and now he was _mad_ at her. It felt like shit.

All too soon, it was time for the reveal. The curtain was taken down and put back into the van, the brothers stood on the front steps, David and Leroy stood in the foyer, and Emma and Mary Margaret stood at the door. “You open it,” Mary Margaret said gently, Emma complied. “Welcome home, Killian,” Mary Margaret said, and the men stepped through.

“Bloody _hell,”_ Killian said, all anger leaving his face, replaced with awe.

“Wha—is this the same house?” Liam asked. For once, his typical “Fix-It Sisters” line sounded entirely genuine.

“Come on, let’s show you around,” Mary Margaret said, taking Killian by the arm and pulling him in further, with Liam following.

As usual, the compliments were overflowing. This was totally normal; after weeks of seeing a house mid-renovation, and knowing what it looked like beforehand, homeowners invariably gushed over even the tiniest details of their new homes. But it just felt so much bigger, more important, more _sincere_ , hearing everything that Killian was saying.

First, he looked at the downstairs bathroom; if he was underwhelmed by the superficial changes, he didn’t let it show. He was very surprised at the spare room, though, as it looked nothing like it did when he was living in it. With a light paint on the walls, new lamps, and way less furniture and clutter, it looked twice as big and bright as before. Liam was especially excited, since it would be his room when he visited, and Emma and Mary Margaret had hung some photos of the two of them in a cluster on one wall.

The kitchen made quite an impact, especially with Liam, who seemed determined to apologize for the comments he’d made about the space being too small. Killian, meanwhile, was entirely floored by the dining set.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“I made it,” Emma said, her voice bright despite the emotions she felt. She was a Fix-It Sister right now, with the cameras on. “I used a bunch of the shiplap from the walls. The chairs were from an estate sale, and I refinished them, saving us a ton of money.” She paused. “I know you weren’t too picky about the dining set and you were okay with me getting something less expensive. I hope you don’t think I was trying to be cheap—”

“No, not at all,” he interrupted. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Good, I’m glad.”

“Brother, want to check out your balcony?” Liam asked slyly.

“Right, the balcony.” Killian moved towards the French doors, slowing down as he spotted what was decidedly _not_ a balcony through the glass panes of the doors and massive windows. “Hold on.”

Liam laughed heartily as Killian threw the doors open, like a kid tearing open a present, and stepped out onto his brand new deck, where one of the cameramen was waiting to capture his reaction. “How?”

“All that money I saved, not staying at hotels,” Liam said, as though it were no big deal. “What was I to do with all the cold, hard cash burning a hole in my pocket?”

Emma could have sworn there were tears in Killian eyes as he embraced his brother and examined his new deck, excitedly trying out the lounge chairs and playing with the grill. Both men chuckled when they spotted the lemonade on the tray, settled under the umbrella shading the table. “I see we have enough refreshments for everyone,” Killian said.

Ugh, how desperate _was_ she that she hoped that had been _fondness_ in his voice?

“Wanna see upstairs?” Mary Margaret asked, grinning widely at how well the men were reacting to the new house.

“Of course.”

All four of them made their way up the stairs, with Killian commenting on all of his souvenirs and mementos set up in the built-ins around the television as they passed by, and Liam complimenting them on the newly finished stairs.

While the office wasn’t tiny, it was a tight fit with a cameraman lying in wait; Mary Margaret and Liam stayed in the doorway, while Emma followed Killian in. “This is … ” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, love, you may have rendered me speechless.”

“Atta girl,” Liam cheered. “That is an all too infrequent occurrence.”

“You’ve got yourself a great location here, Killian,” she said, making sure to sound like a Fix-It Sister. “I wanted to make sure you could see this gorgeous view from as many rooms in the house as possible. So you can get your work done, and enjoy looking out at the harbor.”

“And you even have a little library over here,” Mary Margaret said, pointing at the recliner Emma had loved and Killian had decided to purchase, which sat between a stylish but classic floor lamp and a little end table. Killian strode over and had a seat. “From there, you can see all your books and decide what to read.”

Emma watched Killian’s eyes slide over his books, arranged artfully on the shelves with a few more pieces of decor placed in some of the gaps. She held her breath when she saw him finally notice the canvas print of Milah, smiling back at him.

She knew the camera was capturing the tears that finally spilled from his eyes, and his sad smile as he gazed up at the picture. She shook a little; it had been a huge risk putting that photo there, knowing how emotionally charged the reveal would be, but it had worked.

Finally, it was time to show off the master suite. Liam oohed and aahed and made some great jokes about how when he came to visit, this was going to be his bedroom. And both men approved of the closet space; if Killian felt that it was more appropriately sized for two people, he didn’t voice that complaint.

And finally, there was the master bathroom. Again, it was difficult to reveal the room, since half of the space was taken up by the cameraman. “Oh, _wow._ All right, I take back everything I said about the double sink,” Killian said. “This is perfect. This is … it feels like _my_ bathroom.”

“That was the goal,” Emma reminded him.

She and Mary Margaret left the brothers to continue examining the house while they went to film their “exit interview,” as they liked to call it. They usually did it in front of the finished house, but instead, David brought them out on the deck, to capture the gorgeous view in the background.

As usual, Mary Margaret got them started. “It was really hard for Killian to move on from the life he shared with his late wife. But by sharing his story with the sellers, he was able to get this amazing house with this superb view for twenty thousand dollars under the asking price.”

“It was a rough six weeks, with Killian living in the reno zone, and with such monumental problems eating away at the meager budget,” Emma continued. “But he kept a positive outlook throughout, and by sourcing more affordable furniture, using a lot of his belongings, and accepting a generous gift from his brother Liam, Killian got the perfect home to start building new memories in.”

“Cut! That was great!” David beamed at them. “All right, why don’t we do the teaser with you guys drinking lemonade?”

“Dork,” Emma said. “All right, wanna ad lib?”

“Sure,” Mary Margaret replied. “Ready when you are.”

“And action!”

Mary Margaret grabbed at one of the lemonades that was half full. “Oh, this is so good. I’m a genius for picking up lemonade.”

“Hon, that’s not even yours.” Emma had no idea whose it was (although she really, really hoped it wasn’t Killian’s), but this would make a great teaser.

“Sure it is.”

“Did you check the label?”

“What label?”

“You made labels. See?” Emma grabbed another lemonade and made a big show of checking the little tape flag. _Killian_ , it said, in Mary Margaret’s gorgeous handwriting. “Yep, this one says, ‘Mary Margaret’ on it.” She pretended to look at the other two labels. “Yep, you’re drinking mine.”

“Oh well.”

“Give it back!”

“Finders keepers,” Mary Margaret replied evenly, before walking into the house.

“Oh, yeah, well … ” Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out her own car keys. Not that the audience knew that. “Huh. I found your car keys, so what does _that_ mean?” And then she followed her sister into the house.

“Cut! Love it.”

“Whose lemonade is that?” Emma asked.

“It’s mine,” Mary Margaret said, showing off the label. “I checked.” She rolled her eyes and then said, very quietly, “I knew better than to accidentally grab Killian’s.”

“Hey!”

“Shh!” The brothers had just then stepped into the kitchen and were talking to David about their own exit interviews.

Emma, still awkwardly holding Killian’s lemonade, followed Mary Margaret outside to the driveway while David led the brothers out onto the deck.

Now that they were _really_ alone, Mary Margaret was a little less quiet. “You have to go for it.”

“No, I don’t,” Emma said firmly. “You could tell how upset he was at me.”

“Because he thinks you’re still saying no!”

“What makes you think that’s changed?”

“Because I saw the look on your face when he came up to us. And the look on your face when he saw the house. And the handmade dining table, and the deck, and the office. You are _gone_ , Emma Swan. G-O-N-E _gone._ We’re about to do our last piece of filming, and then we are _done_. Okay?”

“I—”

“You told me to stop dancing around the whole David issue. So maybe take your own advice for once?”

“Ladies, ready for the last piece?” David called out from the front door.

“Uh, yeah! Where are we doing it?” Emma asked, happy for the excuse to walk away from Mary Margaret and end the conversation.

“Since we just did two pieces on the deck, I was thinking the living and dining area, near the French doors.”

“Sounds good.”

Liam and Killian were already waiting for them; Liam was leaning casually against the wall beside the French doors, and Killian was standing nervously near the dining table, looking very confused and conflicted. David had them move around a bit, since the bright light from outside was affecting the shot, but soon enough, they had a good angle.

“Well, Killian, even with all of the setbacks, I hope that you’re happy with the place,” Mary Margaret said.

“I am.” His voice sounded a little rougher than usual. “This is so much more than I could have expected or asked for, on nearly any budget.”

“Killian’s just anxious because I’m threatening to move in,” Liam said. “This place is wonderful. Thank you so much for your hard work.”

“It’s what we do,” Emma said, and Killian’s eyes flicked over to her, as though she’d said something meaningful. “Anyway, you’ve had enough of us taking over your house, right?” They all laughed. “Killian, we wish you the best of luck. This is a very special house, so we’ll leave you to get settled in.”

“Thank you.”

Mary Margaret was the first to reach out and offer to shake Killian’s hand, but he surprised her with a very affectionate hug. Liam laughed and looked towards Emma, who chuckled and accepted a hug from him—this would look less awkward if both she and Mary Margaret hugged the brothers.

And then Liam was hugging Mary Margaret, and Killian was hugging her.

Liam’s hug had been polite—detached without being rude. It was the sort of hug you gave someone when you didn’t know them all that well. But Killian’s embrace was romantic, and she prayed that the cameras weren’t capturing just how inappropriate it was.

Especially because she found herself sighing into his neck and clutching his shirt, and there was no way that was being interpreted as platonic or businesslike.

“All right, that’s a wrap!” David called out, and she extricated herself from Killian’s arms and they all began the process of removing their microphones. “All right, I’m gonna head back to the office. See you there?”

“Sure.”

“Actually,” Liam said, scratching his neck the same way Emma had seen Killian had dozens of times, “we were wondering if the sisters would like to join us for a late lunch?”

“Aye,” Killian said, clearing his throat. “It would mean a lot to us if you did.”

“Don’t you want to, you know, check out the house?” Emma asked anxiously.

“We were going to pick something up,” Liam explained. “Come now, after all your hard work, I can’t imagine you’d say no to a free lunch.”

Emma looked towards Mary Margaret pleadingly, expecting her sister to politely decline on their behalf. But instead, Mary Margaret looked genuinely interested. “Well, free food is always pretty enticing,” she said. “Where were you thinking of ordering from?”

“Granny’s Diner,” Liam replied.

Mary Margaret groaned happily. “Sold.”

“Excellent.” Liam grinned, and Killian looked cautiously optimistic. “I’ll be back in a jiffy then.”

“I’ll come with you,” Mary Margaret said quickly.

“I’m going to insist on paying, lass.”

“That’s fine. But you’re going to need a second pair of hands to carry everything, and besides, I know what to get for the two of us.”

And with that, Mary Margaret was gone. Liam was gone. David was gone. The crew was outside, packing up. It was just her and Killian.

“That was subtle,” she remarked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was Liam’s idea, and I didn’t have the heart to stop him. I wanted to talk to you too badly.”

“I’m sorry for last week,” she said, cutting him off and turning to face him. Her face was burning with embarrassment. “I was exhausted, and I had no idea you were thinking of me like that. And I’ve had issues with guests on the show in the past and didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“Please, love, you’ve nothing to apologize for. Not only did I misinterpret your professional interest, but I also should never have put you in such a difficult position to begin with. The contract is in place for a reason—I understand that. And it was ungentlemanly of me to force myself on you, especially when we were alone in my house, so late at night.”

She let out a heavy breath—she hadn’t even _thought_ about that particular way the kiss had been inappropriate. “You didn’t—just because I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me doesn’t mean you forced yourself on me,” she clarified. “And I wasn’t feeling scared or anything, in that situation.”

He nodded and swallowed hard. “Even so, I’m very sorry.”

She nodded back. “Uh, so, Regina told me you went and talked to her.” He turned bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears. “About the contract.”

“Aye, I did. I should have told you, especially before I kissed you. I kept telling myself to wait it out, that there were only two weeks left, and then I could broach the subject. I hardly made it a week.”

“I do, you know … like you. Like, _like_ you, like you.” She admitted it in a rush, figuring that if she took the time to try to phrase it eloquently, she’d lose her nerve completely.

“I—you do?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t really think about it much until last week, but I did. I mean, for someone who’s so afraid of getting in trouble, I suck at following the rules.”

He smiled a bit. “Aye, such as the rules that state you’re not to have dinner with me alone? Or the rules that prevent me from entering your own flat?”

“Well, there was no rule against that specifically,” she reminded him. “But yeah.”

“Did Regina tell you what she told me?” he asked. “About when the rules no longer apply?”

_Look, we just have one more day of filming, so they just need to keep it under wraps until that’s done._

“Yeah, she did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

He sighed impatiently, but he was smiling slightly. “We’re done filming,” he reminded her, as if she’d forgotten. “We’re about to have lunch, just the four of us, no cameras or directors or other methods of supervision, and it doesn’t matter because the contract no longer applies.”

“Yeah.” She tried to keep a straight face, but as soon as he saw the corners of her mouth twitch, he grinned widely and took a step towards her.

“So, Emma Swan, would you please do me the honor of permitting me to date you?”

She chuckled nervously. “Well, I mean, _fine,_ I guess.”

“I suppose that’s as good of an answer as I’m going to get,” he replied, and once again, she was in his arms, and his lips were on hers, and _wow_ okay, he was an even better kisser when she wasn’t sleep deprived as all hell. And when there wasn’t that stupid contract looming over them. And when there wasn’t dust everywhere, and the smell of paint fumes, or any of that crap. Just him and her and his arms tightening around her waist, and the promise of a fresh start.

* * *

 

Emma groaned as she finally gave up on sleep. She wanted to keep sleeping in—it was Saturday!—but thanks to Daylight Savings Time, it was barely eight o’clock in the morning and the sun was practically burning holes in her eyelids. “Who the _fuck_ thought it was a good idea to put an entire wall of east-facing windows in a bedroom?” she asked no one in particular.

“Well, Swan, if I recall correctly, it was _you,”_ Killian called out from the bathroom.

“My designs included shades.” Which he stubbornly _never_ drew unless they were having sex at night with the lights on. Something about—

“I like rising with the sun.” He poked his head out of the bathroom. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know that from the start, darling. It was in my application.”

“I’ll show you _my_ application,” she replied grumpily. “What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“I do wear clothes on Saturdays, love.”

“You’re wearing work clothes.”

“That I am. Do you recall why?”

“Leave me alone.”

He chuckled. “As you wish.” And then he exited the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. She _hated_ when he did that—with the door open, she could hear everything he was doing downstairs. It wasn’t a design flaw; when the door was closed, the bedroom was a sanctuary. Which he knew. This was his way of making her get up, by exposing her to all the household noise.

And the smell of eggs and bacon, which floated right upstairs and into the bedroom. Goddamnit. She reluctantly dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom.

It looked the same as it had when she’d finished it last year. But after a couple of visits to her condo in Boston, before she’d sold it, Killian had decided that their master bath needed a _bath._ She’d argued with him about it for a couple weeks—there wasn’t enough room, the space would be cramped, they’d have to demolish the linen closet—but the man had worn her down, mostly reminding her of the amazing bath they’d taken together at her place. So she had to figure out a way to renovate the room.

She groaned. And _today_ was the day that they’d be filming the first part of the network special, detailing how she and Killian had met during the renovation, fallen in love, and made a home together. And as part of the special, they’d be _doing_ renovations.

It all came flooding back to her as her brain started kicking into gear.

They would be knocking down the linen closet to make space for the new tub she’d purchased (nice, deep, luxurious). She’d found some space for a new, slightly bigger linen closet by stealing some square footage from the office. And they’d be creating a laundry room in the garage; currently the machines and the sink just sat in a corner. Doing laundry in the winter had sucked so badly that Killian managed to wear the same three pairs of underwear for two weeks, all to avoid being in the freezing cold garage longer than necessary.

And then there was the small addition on the other side of the house. That was happening first—they were starting that _today._

She tried to make herself look presentable before pulling on her newest work clothes. The flannel shirt was too tight, but it was the one she _really_ wanted to wear today; Killian loved the way the colors brought out her eyes. Oh well; it wouldn’t be that terrible to wear it unbuttoned over her tank top.

By the time she got downstairs, breakfast was waiting for her at the dining table. She grinned. She used to remind Killian that she designed the peninsula in the kitchen to be used as a breakfast bar, so he didn’t have to use the larger dining table when he was eating alone or it was just the two of them. But every time she’d brought it up, he’d pointed out that she had made that table with her own two hands (and plenty of tools and equipment, she’d protested, before he’d ignored her and continue his speech) and he was going to eat every single meal at it forever. Eventually, she stopped bringing it up.

He sat down across from her, with his own plate as well as a cup of coffee. “So, are you excited?”

“Yeah,” she said, with a bit of a sigh. “And nervous.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“I know, it’s just ... ” She laughed. “I remember when Regina was telling me about you talking to her about the contract, she said that the network magazine was going to be doing a spread on her and Robin.”

“Aye, I remember you bringing it home and having me read it.”

“Right.”

“And?”

“Well, when she still thought you and Mary Margaret were hooking up—before I told her about David—she said that the network would probably be fine with it and even maybe do a special later on.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Well, clearly they were fine with it.”

“I know,” she said, smiling and reaching for his hand. “Anyway, I’m just nervous. Sometimes, the audience doesn’t care much for this kind of stuff.”

“Aye, but I think they’ll like this one,” he said reassuringly.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, they’ll play all that footage of my episode of the show, and I’m sure they’ll even include plenty of it that was edited out. You remember, don’t you? How upset and anxious I was? How little I wanted to be here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s too bad we didn’t get footage of you nearly puking in our office.”

“Oi, I didn’t nearly—anyway, my point is, that whole episode was about me getting a fresh start and building a new home. Don’t you think your fans will be excited to see just how well we’ve managed together?”

It was hard not to believe him, not when he was so enthusiastic. “Yeah, well, even if you’re wrong, it’s too late to back out now.” She could hear the vans and trucks pulling up. “Time to get started.”

Emma was a little nervous, doing her first side by side “interview” with someone other than Mary Margaret. Her sister had insisted that this episode was about her and Killian, and that Emma should alternate between pairing up with Killian and with Mary Margaret throughout the special. Emma privately thought that it had a lot more to do with Mary Margaret constantly heading to Bar Harbor to meet with wedding vendors.

But to be fair, David was their best director, and they needed him for the whole episode. That left Mary Margaret to handle today’s details regarding the Nolan-Blanchard nuptials.

As Leroy began filming, and David called for action, Emma and Killian began reading off the cue cards.

“Here on Fix-It Sisters, my sister Mary Margaret and I are used to helping people get a fresh start in a brand new home,” Emma began.

“That’s all I was looking for when I was a guest on the show last year,” Killian said. “Little did I know that I’d be getting that fresh start alongside one of the sisters.”

“When I designed this house, I did so with Killian alone in mind. But now, with us both living here, it’s time to make some changes.”

“We’ve got three major projects,” Killian began to explain. “We’ll be turning the master bathroom from a four piece into a five piece, replacing the linen closet and shower stall with a gorgeous new tub. This also means we’ll be relocating the linen closet, taking some space from the hallway and my office. After that, we’ll be converting a corner of the garage into a new laundry room—a well-insulated one, complete with a pull-out drying rack and a counter for folding clothes.”

“Today, though, we’re going to get started with the biggest part of our renovation.” Emma couldn’t help but beam as she spoke. A lot of what they were saying was going to be converted to voice over, but she knew that this moment would be shown in its entirety. “We’ll be adding an addition to the first floor, giving us another bedroom and some extra living space. After all,” she said, grinning and patting her baby bump as the camera panned down to capture the moment, “Uncle Liam needs a place to stay when he comes to visit his niece.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ending! Thanks so much for your awesome support! I love hearing what you think of the story, especially your favorite aspects!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This additional chapter is a gift for bashful-killian! Thanks for being such a great friend to me, and while 2016 was Literally The Worst, you seriously kicked its ass!!
> 
> This extra chapter takes place shortly before the end of Part III, after they wrap Killian's episode, and before the "one year later" flash forward. It's weirdly angsty?? Sorry!

Emma sat down on the toilet seat and cried.

She should have known that things wouldn’t have been as simple as just waiting for Killian’s episode to wrap before they started dating, because things had been pretty damn complicated.

First, there had been the drama with the producers and the network. Emma had figured Regina would be cool with the situation, based on the meeting they’d had during production, back when Regina thought Killian was interested in Mary Margaret. But Regina had _freaked._

“But you said it was fine as long as we waited till filming was over!” Emma had protested.

“I thought he was trying to date _Mary Margaret!_ Mary Margaret was _not_ at that house constantly for weeks, interacting with him, spending time alone with him without any cameras! Do you really think the execs are going to believe you two didn’t jump the gun?”

“He kissed me _once,_ ” she’d responded. “Once! One time! I _immediately_ told him no and left, and we had no more interactions after that that weren’t in front of the cameras.”

Regina had given her an exasperated expression. “Emma, you _kissed?_ Do _not_ tell me that!”

In the end, the network had fined her, saying that they wanted to believe that nothing had happened, but that the whole situation was unprofessional enough that they didn’t want to set a bad precedent. She’d just been relieved that they weren’t threatening to cancel the show, or insisting that they make a public statement.

Killian had offered to pay the fine (“It was my fault anyway— _I_ kissed _you”)_ but with all of his savings spent on the house, and with her substantial salary, it didn’t make any sense. So she’d paid the damn fine and tried not to let it get to her.

But then the entertainment industry had gotten wind of the situation, thanks to someone who snapped a photo of them while they were on their first date, and suddenly _Fix-It Sister Enjoying Bedroom She Helped Renovate_ was all over the place.

At that point, she’d decided that Killian was pretty great, but not worth the trouble. He’d been upset when she’d explained to him why she had to break up with him, but he didn’t give her a hard time about it. He’d just said he hoped she’d change her mind.

She’d been skeptical—she’d never regretted a break-up before. But she was miserable for some reason, like she’d been the one who’d been dumped. A week later, as she’d lain in bed trying to figure out what was wrong with her, she realized the mistake she’d made. She’d shown up at his doorstep as soon as she’d figured it out, and before she could even finish apologizing for waking him up, he’d pulled her inside and into his embrace.

It wasn’t until after the fantastic make-up sex that they’d both realized it had been their first time together.

The next several months had been hard. The media had calmed down, moving on to the next juicy celebrity news, but the show’s season was in full-swing, leaving her very little time with Killian. When one renovation went over schedule, thanks to the guests’ insistence on add-ons, her hours ballooned, and it became difficult to endure Killian’s wistful stares and pleading messages. _You’re overworking yourself, love. It’s not your fault they went over schedule, it’s theirs. Please come over, I haven’t seen you in two weeks._

They’d fought over it, which was when Emma had realized how much she wanted to be in the relationship. Killian had been angry, pointing out how infrequently they saw each other, and how rarely they spoke on a regular basis. When he’d said something about how he might as well have no girlfriend at all, she’d had this awful realization that he might be about to break up with her. And the thought had been _so_ terrifying and upsetting that she’d immediately ended the argument, promising to talk to Regina and Mary Margaret to see what they could do to lighten her schedule.

Just openly stating that she wanted to find a way to prioritize him helped; he’d responded by acknowledging that he needed to be more respectful about her schedule—her _job._ And then he _had_ been more respectful and more patient.

And things got a _little_ better. Subsequent episodes were _much_ better, so she had a lot more time to spend with him. She’d never gotten to really enjoy the fruits of her labor, since she never visited former guests of the show, but now she got to spend her free time with Killian in the house she’d made for him.

She loved it. She loved hanging out with him on the porch while he grilled up dinner, or watching TV together on the couch when they were too tired to do anything else, or reading in the armchair in his office while he got some work done at his desk.

Or making love in his bed, over and over until she never wanted to move ever again.

It was fun. It was domestic. And even though her job put a strain on things, for the first time ever, she felt like she was _happy_ with a boyfriend. Killian was sweet and kind and funny, and there was no point that she was tired of seeing him or spending time with him. She finally felt like she’d found _the_ relationship.

That is, until the network decided that they would do one more season in Maine, and then start filming in Chicago.

They’d told her two weeks ago, and she’d been obsessing over what to do. She hadn’t exactly expected they’d stay in Maine forever, but with only one finished season in this market, she’d kind of hoped they’d stay a little while longer before they went somewhere else. But no, there would be one last season in Maine, and then it was off to the Windy City for probably two or three seasons.

She still hadn’t told Killian.

Emma always had insomnia when she dealt with this kind of stress, so it wasn’t shocking that she’d barely slept since she’d gotten the news about Chicago. But the nausea had been new. At first she’d thought it was food poisoning, and then she’d thought that maybe it was just because she was getting older. She was too stressed and worried over Chicago to really think about anything else.

That is, until Mary Margaret’s period arrived. The feminine hygiene products in the trash in their shared bathroom made Emma realize something: she was two weeks late.

A trip to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test confirmed it.

She was pregnant.

Goddamn everything, she was _pregnant._

She was pregnant and she’d been with the father less than a year, and she was going to be shipped off to Chicago before the baby would even be born. If she even _had_ the baby.

Emma was still crying when Mary Margaret got home. “Emma, what happened? Did you tell Killian? Oh, _no_ , you didn’t break up, did you? Sweetheart, I _know_ it’ll be tough, but—”

Emma interrupted her sister by shoving the pregnancy test at her.

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”

“Is this real?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my _god.”_

“I know.”

“Ew, wait, you peed on this.” She set the test down on the countertop and quickly washed her hands. “Okay, so … you’re pregnant.”

“Yeah.”

“Does Killian know?” Emma gave her sister an incredulous look and Mary Margaret winced. “Right, you’re sitting in the bathroom with a pregnancy test and you’re crying. Of course he doesn’t know.”

“I haven’t even told him about Chicago.” She wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do, okay?” Emma nodded. “You’re going to drink a lot of water, and then you’re going to take a shower. I’m going to pick up dinner from Granny’s, and then we’re going to watch whichever movie you’re in the mood for while we eat. And then you’re going to take another test, just so we can be sure.”

“Okay,” Emma said, voice hoarse.

A few hours, a shower, a grilled cheese sandwich, and one Disney movie later, Emma took the second test.

It was still positive.

She was so screwed.

* * *

Killian, still oblivious to everything, invited her over for dinner the following evening. Emma was shaking as she pulled into the garage, to the point where she had trouble getting her key into the door to the kitchen. By the time she managed to get it in and unlock it, there was a very concerned Killian on the other side, ready to open it for her. “Swan, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, just sucking at unlocking the door today,” she said, trying to sound calm as she walked into the house.

“Ah, yes, that one can be difficult. You know, I was thinking of updating to a keypad. Is that expensive?”

“Not reno expensive,” she said. “Like, maybe a hundred bucks per door, tops. Easy installation.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad. I could add one in the garage at the very least.” She sat down at the breakfast bar as she watched him get back to the stove.

He’d been making an effort to learn how to cook ever since the renovation had finished. He’d confided in her that neither he nor Milah had been much for cooking; it reminded her too much of being a stay-at-home wife and mother in a loveless marriage, and he’d been too busy adventuring to really acquire any skill. Living in New York, especially with the tiny kitchenette he’d had, and traveling constantly, Killian had mostly relied on take-out or pre-made meals.

But now that he had a clean, spacious kitchen with a top-of-the-line range and layout conducive to cooking, he was investing a lot of time and energy into learning. And over the past several months, he’d gotten a lot better, especially since he was no longer saving his money for the renovations and could spend some of it on new cookware.

Tonight, she could see that he was making one of her favorite meals: lo mein with all of her favorite veggies. A few months ago, she’d complained about her diet; as a TV personality, her appearance and weight mattered too much for her to be able to eat whatever she wanted. She could get away with Granny’s once a week, and the occasional cheat when she was extra-active with a reno, but that was it. As a result, she hadn’t been able to eat her favorite Chinese food in years.

The very next time she’d been over, he’d surprised her with the dish. “It’s homemade,” he’d explained, “so it’s much healthier than what you’d get with take-out. I wasn’t sure which vegetables you liked best, so let me know what I can change for next time.”

The sight of him tonight, cooking a meal just for her, in the kitchen she’d made for him, was too much for her. She started crying again.

He didn’t notice at first, since he was busy cooking and making light conversation. “So, Liam apparently wasn’t joking about moving in. I feel as though I just took him back to the airport yesterday, and he’s already talking about coming back out next month. Bloody bastard visited me _once_ when I lived in New York—once! I lived there for _three years,_ Swan. If he keeps visiting me this often, I’m going to start charging rent.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Aye, it’s just—” He paused and looked up from the stove. “Emma? Darling, what—what on earth is wrong?” He quickly moved the pan off of the burner and shut if off before hurrying over to the other side of the breakfast bar to comfort her. “Emma, he doesn’t have to visit, he hasn’t even purchased the tickets yet.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered, shutting her eyes closed as tightly as she could, like that would somehow keep her from crying.

“What is it?” She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. How could she tell him? Where was she even supposed to _start?_ The pregnancy? Chicago? Just thinking about it made her cry harder.

This was it, wasn’t it? They were going to break up. They weren’t going to be able to get through this, so it would _end._ She’d get an abortion, she’d move to Chicago, and this would all just be another chapter in Emma Swan’s Horrible Dating History. The worst part was—

“I’m not ready for this to end,” she sobbed.

“What? You—what?” The shock in his voice made it all so much worse, and she broke down, trying to curl away from him, which was difficult because she was sitting on a stool. “Oh, Emma, please, love—please tell me what’s wrong.”

But she couldn’t stop crying. It just wasn’t _fair._ She couldn’t give up her job, but it would mean losing _him_ , and she didn’t want to lose him. Regina got to be with Robin, and Mary Margaret got to be with David, and she’d have to just drop Killian like he meant nothing to her, when he meant _everything_ to her because—

“I love you,” she choked out, gasping for breath between tears. “I love you, I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t—you can’t lose me,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Emma, please, I love you. I love you more than anything. Please tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it. Please, just tell me.”

He was starting to cry, too, which just made everything worse. He didn’t even know what was wrong and he was already crying; what would happen when she _did_ tell him? She _couldn’t_ tell him, and she couldn’t _not_ tell him, not when he knew something was going on.

So she just cried, and he cried, arms still around her, until her sobs turns to hiccups and he stopped murmuring _please_ , and they were quiet, her on the bar stool and him standing beside her, tears and sweat sticking to them.

It was at that point that he shifted, and she let him help her down from the stool. Both shaking, they made their way to the couch, where she nestled into his arms like she always did. She felt so safe like that, and she just wanted to cry again. But there were no more tears, it seemed. She’d apparently cried herself out.

He sniffled loudly, and she thought he was going to say something, but he just shifted and took a few deep breaths. He was waiting for her to talk first.

“They want to film in Chicago,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He was very quiet for a while, processing the information. She kept her head buried in his side, eyes shut, unwilling to look at his expression while he reacted.

“When?” he finally asked.

“Starting in June.”

He let out a long breath. “How certain is this?”

“They’re rolling out advertising on Monday.”

“And they only just told you?”

“They told me two weeks ago.”

He was quiet again, and she knew why; he was angry. She’d waited two weeks to tell him that she was breaking up with him. The acceptance that she was _breaking up with him_ hurt like an actual knife to her gut, and she felt more tears rising up. Apparently, she _wasn’t_ cried out.

“Oh, love, no, I’m not angry with you.” He cradled her, resting his head on top of hers. “I just wish I’d known sooner. I’m sure the house will sell quickly, but I need to find one in Chicago.”

“What?” What was he talking about? She pulled away to finally look at him.

He looked pretty terrible. His eyes were red from crying, and he was definitely having trouble maintaining a smile. But he _was_ trying to smile. “I told you, Swan,” he said softly. “You can’t lose me.”

“You can’t,” she said. “You can’t sell this place.”

“Why not? It’s just a house—a _beautiful_ house,” he clarified. “But a house all the same.”

“No,” she said firmly. “No.”

“You don’t wish for me to accompany you?” All attempts at smiling vanished. “Emma, I know this might be news to you, but I _love_ you. I will live anywhere as long as you’re there.”

“You can’t sell the house.”

“It’s my house to sell.”

She couldn’t argue with him. He was right—it was his house. It wasn’t _her_ house. It wasn’t her home. It just … felt like it was. Was that totally crazy? “Please don’t sell this place,” she whispered. “I love this house.”

“I’ll let it out, then,” he said. “And find a rental in Chicago. Is this what you’ve been worrying about? That I wouldn’t come with you?”

“I …” How angry would he be if she told him she hadn’t even considered it? She’d just assumed he’d stay here.

“It didn’t occur to you, did it?” he asked, but his tone was affectionate.

“No,” she whispered. She dropped her head to his chest, burying her face in his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

“No, Emma, don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry. If you’d known before how much I loved you, you’d never have had anything to fear.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“This is like the first time we had sex.”

“Is it?”

“We just said ‘I love you’ for the first time.”

He laughed, a little weakly. “Aye, I suppose we did. I meant it, though.”

She sighed. “I did, too.”

She let him hold her for a while, until both of their stomachs growled and gurgled at the same time. “Bloody hell, I forgot about the food,” he said.

“I’m sorry, it’s probably ruined.”

“Aye, it probably is. It was only half-cooked, and I still don’t have enough experience to know if I can simply put it back on the stove. If you give me a few minutes, I can whip something else up.”

“You don’t have to.”

“We have to eat, Swan.”

“I guess so.”

“Hold on, all right?”

She nodded. Once he got up and went into the kitchen, though, she was freezing cold and shaking like hell. She grabbed a throw blanket (new, a gift from her when she discovered that the ones she’d gotten during the renovation were super scratchy) and wrapped herself up in it.

He was going to come with her. Maybe things wouldn’t be the worst ever.

He returned with a glass of wine and held it out to her. She reached out to take it before stopping.

Oh wait. The other thing. She winced.

“What is it?” he asked, looking at her curiously.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.

His mouth dropped open and he stood completely still. Really, completely still, like he was actually a statue. She kept searching his face for any indication of any emotion besides shock. Was he upset? Was he happy?

“Please say something,” she whispered.

“I suppose you can’t drink this then.” His face was still free of any expression besides surprise.

“No.”

He kept standing and staring for a bit before he finally leaned down and set the glass on the table. His hand was shaking. “I know how I feel about this,” he finally said, still not letting on what exactly those feelings were. “But that doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” she said. What the hell was he talking about? “Why wouldn’t it matter?”

“Because—bloody hell, Swan.” He sat down beside her and took her hands in his. “We haven’t once discussed this. This wasn’t a decision we made. So whatever _you_ wish is what matters. Whatever _your_ desire is, that’s what we’re doing.”

“But I—”

“No,” he said firmly. “Emma, I need to know what _you_ want. Don’t you understand that? Just tell me what _you_ want. In a perfect world, what would you want?”

“Not to leave,” she said, still whispering. “I don’t want to go to Chicago.” He nodded, and his eyes were shining with more tears. God, she _hated_ that she’d made him cry.

“And the baby?” he asked.

Oh, god, the baby. She’d walked in here tonight assuming that they were going to break up, and that she’d terminate the pregnancy. But they _weren’t_ breaking up. He said he’d come with her to Chicago. That changed everything. Knowing that, what did she want to do?

More tears welled up. Damn, whenever she’d been crying, it was just so easy to start up again.

“I want it,” she said. “I really do.”

“Aye?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

And then his face _finally_ broke into a smile, and her heart melted. “I didn’t want to say anything—I didn’t want to pressure you—but—”

“You’re going to be a dad.” Now it was hard not to smile, too. Not when Killian was crying actual, real-life tears of joy.

“I’m going to be a father,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it. “Bloody hell, this is real. This is real, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

This was real. They loved each other. They were going to stay together. They were going to be parents, together.

He surged forward, wrapping her back in his arms and kissing her fiercely. She could taste his tears on his lips, although maybe those were her own tears. It didn’t matter.

Their passionate kiss was interrupted by more stomach gurgling, and they broke apart. “We need to address this issue,” he said firmly, although his voice was still filled with emotion. “I’m going to order Chinese food.”

“Killian, no, I can’t.”

“You can and you will. We’re celebrating, and besides, I’ve just been told that you’re eating for two now.”

She laughed. “I’m, like, maybe four weeks.”

“Is there or is there not another person inside of you right now?”

“It’s not—Killian, it’s just a ball of cells.”

“Emma Swan, I am ordering Chinese food. What kind of lo mein do you want?”

“Beef.”

“Excellent.”

It only took him a minute or so to make the phone call, but the whole time, she just stared at him, still crying, but smiling.

He ended the call. “Love, it’s all right.” He took her hand.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stop crying, and I don’t know why!”

He laughed. “It’s probably the hormones, darling.”

Oh. Right. Duh.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, Emma and Killian invited David and Mary Margaret over. “Thanks for coming,” Emma said as they stepped inside. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“We really do,” Mary Margaret said with a smile. Emma rolled her eyes; clearly, her sister was jumping the gun a little, assuming that she was about to hear good news.

She _was_ about to hear good news, but how could she possibly know for sure?

“So here’s the thing,” Emma said as they all sat down in the living room. “David, I asked Mary Margaret not to tell you this, but I’m pregnant.”

His mouth dropped open, and then he smiled. “Really? Congratulations!”

It was the first _congratulations_ she’d gotten. She knew it wouldn’t be the last, and that she’d probably be sick of it soon enough, but for now, it was like she had this giant bubbling fountain of sunshine inside of her, and she grinned automatically. Killian did, too. “Thanks. So, we’ve decided to move in together. Here, obviously.”

“That’s wonderful!” Mary Margaret said. She raised an eyebrow knowingly. “So I take it you might _not_ be as open to Chicago as before.”

Emma scoffed. “When was I _ever_ open to Chicago?”

“True. But lemme guess: you called us over to brainstorm how to get out of it?”

Killian nodded. “We’ve talked about it quite a bit this weekend, and while I’m happy to go to Chicago, it’s important to both of us not to sell the house.”

“More than that,” Emma continued, “we kind of hate both of our options that involve me going to Chicago. Either we both go, and we have to keep trucking around to wherever the show goes, so our kid wouldn’t have a regular _home_. Or he’d have to stay here with the kid, and I’d never get to see either of them except during hiatuses.”

“Yeah, that’s no good,” David said.

“We’re not really interested in leaving either,” Mary Margaret said. “Which, I mean, _you_ know that since we talked about it.”

“True. But David’s part of the show, so he’d come with us anyway. I’m not saying you have no investment in staying!” she said quickly. “Just that, I mean, if we’re going to try to convince the network _not_ to take the show to Chicago, I don’t think they’ll care if it’s just a matter of us not wanting to.”

“Well, if the show’s creators, who are also the stars, don’t want to go to Chicago, then maybe the show isn’t going to Chicago,” Mary Margaret said firmly. “Also, uh, there’s another reason we want to stay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She held out her hand. “I’d rather not have to do all my wedding planning over the phone.”

“Oh, holy _shit.”_ There was a _huge_ ring on Mary Margaret’s finger. “Oh my god. Really?” Mary Margaret nodded enthusiastically. “Oh my _god!”_

She leapt up to hug her sister, dimly registering Killian congratulating David. Her sister was getting _married._ Married! David was going to be her brother-in-law! Oh god, she was crying again. “Sorry, happy tears,” she said. “I swear, happy tears.”

“I know.” Mary Margaret pulled back to smile at her. “So, what do you say we stand our ground?”

* * *

Monday morning, Emma and Mary Margaret met with Regina, and Thursday morning, they had a conference call with the network execs.

“We’re not going to Chicago,” Mary Margaret said firmly. “I’m getting married to David Nolan, our best director. We’re buying a house here in Maine and we’re getting married here, too.”

“And I’m pregnant,” Emma said. God, she _was_ pregnant, wasn’t she? This was surreal. “I’m going to be moving in with Killian Jones—I _know_ you remember him—and we’re raising the kid here, together.” Also surreal.

“We understand that you think we’ve done enough seasons in Maine,” Mary Margaret continued. “So we’re volunteering to pick a different market. However, we’re not willing to leave New England.”

“New Hampshire is our first suggestion,” Emma said. “There are a couple of markets there, and we can even do a season that’s just vacation homes.”

“So?”

By the end of the meeting, it was decided. They would go on an extended hiatus once Emma gave birth, and then return with a season of vacation homes in the same market before moving on to New Hampshire. There was only one stipulation that Emma had to agree to.

She practically jumped into Killian’s arms when she got home. “I take it the meeting went well?” he asked, chuckling.

“Uh-huh. Well, except one thing I hope you’re okay with.”

He set her down and gave her a wary look. “What have you signed me up for, Swan?”

“Well, uh, they … want to do a special.”

“A special?” He furrowed his brow.

“Yeah, on us. Like, an episode or a few episodes where they follow us around and have us talk about our life together.”

“Just talking? On _your_ show?” He raised his eyebrow.

She understood what he was asking. “They want us to do renovations. But I think they’re right. When the baby comes, we’ll be using both bedrooms. Where’s Liam gonna stay?”

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t like him to swear like that. He was usually a little more elegant and articulate about swearing. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Liam—I have to tell Liam. He’s going to be an uncle and I forgot to tell him.”

“It’s okay, you _just_ found out.”

“I know, but—”

“Killian, focus. We’ll have to do renovations. Are you okay with that?”

“Who’s paying?”

“Me, I guess. But it’s okay, I can afford it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t blow your salary on this, love. Not with the baby coming.”

“I wouldn’t need to. I’m moving in with you, remember? Mary Margaret and I are going to sell the apartment we’ve been sharing here, _and_ I’m selling my place in Boston. That’s _more_ than enough to pay for the reno.”

“Are you sure?” She nodded. “So we’d be building, what, another bedroom?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe a whole addition. An extra bedroom for sure, but maybe another bathroom and a playroom? Your living room is pretty small; we’d be stepping on toys all the time.”

He looked thoughtful, clearly considering her words, before grinning and shaking his head. “Not _my_ living room,” he said. “It’s _our_ living room.”

She blushed. “I haven’t moved in yet.” He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, fine. Our living room.”

And, well, it was _their_ living room. The house had felt like _hers_ the whole time she’d been renovating it. And now it _was._

This was her home, here with Killian. They were going to live in this house, love each other, raise their child together, and weather whatever storm the network threw at her.

“There’s just _one_ thing you have to promise me,” she said.

“Anything, love. Anything your heart desires.”

“We are _not_ living in the reno.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this bonus chapter, and I'd love to hear what you think!


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